Only You
by Livienne
Summary: "That's it?" Stella prodded, her eyes flashing. "You don't have anything else to say for yourself?" Brandon narrowed his eyes. "What do you want me to say, Stella? It's obvious that you've already made up your mind about what happened. Does it matter what I have to say? I mean, how could you even—you know what? It doesn't even matter." — Brandon/Stella
1. One

▬▬ **Notes:** Hi guys! I've had a rough draft of this short story for a couple of years now, and I figured I'd finally sit down and write it. This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but I got a little carried away with the idea, so there will be a few more chapters to come.

This story takes place in early season four. Basically, this is an attempt at showing a more detailed version of what (might have) happened between Stella and Brandon while Mitzi was trying to drive a wedge between them. Based on my own interpretation, imagination and whatnot, of course. There's also this whole engagement thing that never got cleared up, so I'm going to touch upon that as well at some point. That's all. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy if you choose to read onward.

▬▬ **Genres:** Drama | Romance | Friendship | Hurt/Comfort | Angst

▬▬ **Tumblr:** liviennette

* * *

 **Only You**

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 _Chapter I_

* * *

Brandon clenched his jaw at the sight before him. One of Andy's bandmates ── whose name he couldn't bother to remember, and quite frankly couldn't care to know ── had offered to help Stella play the guitar in what seemed like a friendly thing to do. Too friendly for his liking. Brandon had never liked the guy in the first place, if he was being honest. He still remembered the way the tall, lanky male had leaned over Stella, and the sort of longing way he had had in his eyes when he had looked at her when the girls had first arrived at their apartment, needing help in painting the walls. Nothing about the situation had been friendly then, and nothing about it was friendly now.

The pale-skinned and curly-haired guy was standing way too close to Stella, and the way his hands kept sliding down to hers to re-position her fingers over the guitar strings made his blood curdle. It was at that goddamn moment that Brandon detected a faint blush creeping upon Stella's cheeks at the gesture, and he suddenly felt an immense urge to go up that stage and strangle the nameless boy with his bare hands. Or break his damned hand that had touched hers. Or better yet, punch him in the face and wipe that stupid, foolish grin off his face. Or maybe—

"—anything I just said?" a feminine voice broke him out of his stupor. "Earth to Bran—"

"What?" Brandon bit back irritably, unaware of the way the simple reply had tumbled out of his mouth until he swivelled around and saw the stunned expression on the face of the person sitting across him. Brandon immediately regretted the harsh tone he had unintentionally used and let out an agitated sigh. "Sorry, Musa. I didn't mean it like that," he quickly apologized, shaking his head in order to clear his mind. "It's just been a long day. What were you saying again?"

From her seat, Musa peered up at him over her milkshake with a raised eyebrow. By the looks of it, she looked far more concerned than offended at the fact that he had failed to keep up with her musings.

"Nothing important," she waved him off, casual, but her indifferent tone held a note of concern. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Brandon straightened up in his seat, folding his arms on the table. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

Musa shot him an unimpressed look. "Is that why you were staring daggers at Mark?"

"I—what?" Brandon stammered dumbly. Gradually, his astonishment melted into one of realization. Brandon closed his mouth and cleared his throat, trying to appear nonchalant. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're not fooling anyone, Brandon," Musa stated simply, seeing right through him. Brandon deflated a little in his seat, not even bothering to protest. After all, Musa was like a little sister that he never had — one that could always be honest with him and call on his bullshit, and throughout the years of their friendship both of them had gotten good at reading one another. He'd be lying if he said he was surprised by her reaction. "Mark is only helping her out with the guitar. You don't have to worry about him."

"Who said I was worried?" Brandon shot back.

"Alright, then," Musa relented, sipping on her strawberry milkshake. Brandon could tell by her dismissive attitude that Musa didn't believe one bit of it, but she didn't pester him about it either, which did surprise him. "When do you think you're gonna talk to Stella?"

Ah, there it was.

Brandon scoffed. "You think I haven't tried? She has been avoiding me like plague this whole time," he answered grimly.

"That's only because you hurt her feelings," Musa reasoned, and his brown eyes looked up to meet her navy ones, curious, concerned, coaxing her for more details — a reason that would finally explain why Stella was ignoring him all this time. Daintily, Musa set her milkshake on the table. "You know how she is, Brandon. For better or worse, Stella puts on a tough face but deep inside she's hurting. I think she's upset because she thinks there might be something going on with you and Mitzi."

Mouth hanging in disbelief, Brandon said, "You're kidding me, right?" and continued to stare at Musa like she was some wild specimen under a microscope. "Are you for real?" he had to ask again, not able to wrap his head around the idea that Stella would seriously feel that way. "Why the hell would she think that?"

Through her eyelashes, Musa studied Brandon for a moment until she shrugged and said, "Well, you did kind of brush her off that day when you saved Mitzi," she told him. "Also, let's be honest, you can be a bit of a flirt."

Brandon narrowed his eyes at the last bit. "Okay, first of all, Stella completely misread the whole situation. I didn't even know who Mitzi was until I rescued her," Brandon defended, recalling the events of the day Mitzi had kissed him on the cheek for saving her. Somehow Stella had misinterpreted the whole situation, thinking she had seen them kissing, which led her to go off on both him and Mitzi. To his defence, he wasn't just going to stand there and watch her accuse him of something that he never did. At that time, he didn't think Mitzi deserved to be yelled at either, thinking she was just a helpless girl. In the end, the whole fiasco had ended with Stella crying, and Brandon had been too mad to go after her. It was something he later regretted.

Letting out an agitated sigh, Brandon raked a hand through his brown hair. "And yeah, I admit I could've probably handled the situation better and tried to talk to Stella right after it, but things were already strained between you girls and us, and I just . . . I don't know, I guess I was pissed. But I can assure you there is absolutely nothing between Mitzi and I," Brandon said in a firm tone. "Hell, I've been trying to get rid of her. You can even ask the other guys."

"I believe you, Brandon," Musa assured in earnest, giving him a sympathetic smile in return. "Like I said, you just need to find a way to crack through her and talk to her. I'm sure she'll come around eventually."

"Yeah, I hope so," Brandon sighed, stealing yet another furtive glance at Stella who seemed to be enjoying herself on the stage with Mark and Flora. While Brandon was happy that Stella was happy, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the fact that it had to be the scrawny-looking guy that was making her smile instead of him. "I really hope so."

* * *

Fighting back a yawn, Stella leaned forward and rested her hand against her cheek while lazily drumming her perfectly polished nails on the countertop. With undisguised relief etched across her face, Stella watched as the last group of customers exited the magical pet shop. About time. The bell over the door rang, signalling an end of her long, exhausting shift — and the beginning of her much-needed and well-deserved bubble bath that she had anticipated since the early afternoon.

Just as Stella was about to stretch out her limbs and breathe a sigh of content, a sound of click-clack heels jarred her away from her plans of the relaxed evening, and her shoulders sagged. Groaning internally, Stella could only hope that it was not one of those unrelenting moms in their late fifties that demanded getting a trim for their pets — or, more specifically, the pets that belonged to their disgruntled children who were too scared to ask for anything after the closing hours. Little did Stella know that she would have welcomed those annoying customers any day over the person who stood behind her.

"Hello, Stella."

Stella whirled around, spotting a very familiar and very unwanted raven-haired girl standing right behind her. Recognition filled her expression, followed by a hardened face. "I'm sorry, but we're closed, Mitzi. Come back tomorrow. Or better yet, never."

Mitzi was not deterred in the slightest. "Oh, I'm not here for any of those stupid pets," Mitzi dismissed easily with a wave of her hand. "I came to see you."

The blonde arched a suspicious eyebrow at other girl, taking in her pathetic excuse for an attire with a slightly curled upper lip. Khaki caprices with a horrid green tank top — such a tasteless combination. Not to mention her high-wedged cream sandals that practically screamed trashy. Like hello — everyone knew you could not pair khaki caprices with a pair of platform sandals. Under any other circumstances, Stella would have offered the poor soul some tips on proper dress etiquette and fashion, but not this girl. Not the girl that tried to steal her boyfriend. Not the girl who tried to plot against her and her friends. No — there was no way Stella was going to grace Mitzi with any of her kindness or generosity. Mitzi could rot in hell for all she cared. Straightening her posture, Stella let her eyes slide back up to her tacky glasses.

"And what, pray tell, brought you here to see me?" Stella asked in a mocking tone, folding her arms across her chest.

Pale orange lips quirked up into a sly smirk — one that eerily reminded Stella of a certain cheshire cat with a mischievous grin. Taking two long strides, the raven-haired girl crossed the space between the two of them until she was facing the sun fairy. "I came to see how you were holding up," Mitzi offered airily, "You see, I couldn't help but notice that your relationship with Brandon seems a little . . . strained. Is everything alright?" Mitzi inquired in an overly sweet voice, her brows drawn together in faux concern.

"I'm flattered you've taken an interest in my life," Stella said, forcing her voice to sound light and cheery, though it was clear she was being sarcastic given the circumstances, "but I'm afraid my relationship is none of your business."

"Trouble in paradise?" Mitzi crooned, tilting her head to the side, her lips puckered into a pathetic pout. "You know, I never understood what Brandon saw in you. There is nothing special about you."

Stella felt a muscle tick in her jaw. Enough of this stupid chit-chat. The blonde stepped closer, resuming her sass and confidence as she stared down at the other girl. "You'd better watch yourself," Stella bit back, venom dripping in her voice.

"Touchy, touchy," Mitzi was quick to backpedal, placing her hands in a manner of mock surrender in front of her. "I mean, let's be real. It's only a matter of time before he gets bored with you and tosses you aside," she jeered maliciously, leaning closer. Stella stood her ground, staring right into her coil black eyes. She was not going to let some stupid, mousy girl with a terrible sense in fashion get under her skin. "Face it, blondie: you'll be history real soon."

"Oh, yeah?" Stella taunted, scoffing. "You must be delusional if you think he wants anything to do with someone the likes of _you_."

Annoyance flashed through her black eyes, but it vanished almost as quickly as her scowl turned into a devilish smirk. "You might want to reconsider your words, honey. After all, Brandon and I like to talk," Mitzi declared smugly, shoving her hand in her purse to fish out something — a phone — and punched in some keys before she wiggled it right in front of Stella's face. A familiar number flashed across the screen, and her heart sank. Mitzi leaned in forward, dropping her voice to a whisper as she added in a sickeningly sweet voice, "That's right. We talk. All the time."

Muscles tensed in her body. Blood boiled in her veins. Stella wanted nothing more than to hit the other girl with her five-inch designer high heel — hard. Like really, really hard. Stella could practically feel the biting itch in her hand, and the jolting tingle in her fingertips. She wanted to rip Mitzi's throat out and feed it to the trolls. Never before had she felt an immense urge to hurt someone — not to this extent — and it took every fibre of her being not to let her temper slip.

"You might as well give up now," Mitzi continued to sneer, unaware of the storm that was brewing inside the blonde; unaware of the hand that slowly rose up. "Because it's pretty clear that—"

Mitzi never had the chance to finish her sentence because it was at that moment that Stella's open palm connected with her cheek, firm and tight, causing Mitzi to gasp and her head to jerk to the side. A loud sound of a slap echoed throughout the quiet apartment. Wide-eyed, Mitzi stared at Stella as her mouth hung open and her hand cradled the part of her face that was slowly turning bright red.

"You're pathetic. I don't know what your problem is, but you don't want to pick a fight with me. Because if you do, I swear I'll turn you into something worse than a toad," Stella snarled, her eyes blazing. Turning on her heels, Stella forced her feet to carry her to the front door before she did something she might truly regret. "Oh, and by the way," Stella purred, determined to have one last jab at the girl. "Your roots are showing."

Taking great pleasure at hearing Mitzi gasp at her remark, Stella plastered a tight smile on her face and raised her chin high in the air, standing a little taller. It might have been petty, but Stella didn't care. Not one bit. That tramp deserved it. With a flick of her long blonde hair, Stella stalked out of the pet shop with her pride perfectly intact, but her heart a little heavier.

* * *

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The street lamps were dimly lit, and the air was quiet and calm, save for a couple of cars and a few passers-by. Stella was not sure how long she had been wandering around the streets of Gardenia, but her anger had subsided the longer she had walked. (In high heels, no less. Stella ought to get some recognition.) Still, she was not able to shake off the churning doubt in the pit of her stomach that she felt every time she thought of Brandon giving his number to the little witch. It was clear that the vindictive viper was relentless and would not leave him alone for a second, but it was the idiot of her boyfriend who did nothing about it. Fury and hurt ignited again, causing Stella to curl her fingers inside her palms, her nails digging into her soft, smooth skin.

"Stella?"

Stella froze in mid-stride, and her heart slammed in her chest at the sound of his voice — Brandon's voice. Great — just her luck; fate clearly had it out for her today. Swallowing thickly, Stella re-adjusted the bright pink strap of her tote bag, pulling it tighter against her shoulder before she pivoted on her heels and carried on walking briskly. Amidst the sound of her heels clicking, she heard Brandon call out to her again, but she refused to slow down; refused to turn back; refused to even acknowledge his presence. She was too hurt. All she wanted was to be left alone.

"Stella," Brandon tried again, the crunching sound of his footsteps advancing toward her, trailing behind the sharp click-clacks of her heels. "Damn it, Stella, would you just slow down for a sec—"

"No," she flung back indignantly, hands balled into tight fists, eyes looking straight ahead of her. "You're the last person I want to talk to right—" Stella began, but Brandon had already caught up to her, his hand circling around her wrist, tugging her backward. Losing her footing, Stella squealed and let out a gasp, her heels scraping against the pavement as she pitched right into Brandon. He easily caught her into his arms before she could collide with the ground and steadied her, locking his hands on her arms and pulling her upright.

As Stella straightened up, she was able to catch the familiar whiff of his scent, and her mind began to swim. He smelled clean, musky and spicy and just so uniquely and intoxicatingly _him_. Like pines and sandalwood. The calming effects of the familiar, yet comforting scent sent her head reeling, and for a moment all Stella wanted was to wrap her arms around his neck and feel his body next to hers and forget about everything.

But she couldn't. Not after what he did.

"Stella—" Brandon started.

"Don't," Stella cut him off, averting her eyes. Tugging against his hold, Stella clenched her jaw. "Let go of me."

His grip only tightened on her. "I'm not letting you go." His tone was firm and hard, forcing her to look up at him. Her breath left her body in a rush. His broad shoulders were squared in tension, and his usually warm and friendly chocolate-brown eyes were cold as steel. He looked fed up. "I'm done walking on eggshells around you, Stella. I am tired of you constantly ignoring me and pushing me aside. I just want to talk to you. Is that too much to ask?"

"I already told you that I don't want to talk to you. What part of that don't you understand?" Stella gritted out, trying once more to push against him and pry herself free from his vice-like grasp, but nothing made him loosen his hold on her. He wouldn't even budge an inch. She finally gave up and let out an annoyed huff. "Damn it, Brandon! Let go of me already!"

He held her tighter. "No."

"No?" Stella challenged, her eyes flashing.

"No," Brandon stressed, frustration ringing in his voice. He held her gaze, adamant. "Not until you tell me why you're avoiding me."

Stella's mouth fell open. Resentment coursed through every bone of her body, heating her up from inside out; blood boiling and skin tingling. For the second time today, she wanted to hit someone. "Why am I—you—ugh," Stella sputtered, aggravated. Her eyes narrowed and her pupils dilated, acid rising from her stomach to the tip of her tongue. "I can't believe you. I actually can't believe you," Stella seethed. And then her voice rose in volume, her hands shaking. "You seriously think you can go around kissing that—that—she-devil, and then let her fawn all over you behind my back and assume I would never find about it? And then you have the nerve to ask _me_ why I'm avoiding _you_?" she spat heatedly.

Brandon blinked, taken aback. "Wait, what?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," Stella hissed spitefully.

Brandon looked even more confused and clueless now — if that was even possible. Had Stella not been mad at him, she might have thought he looked adorable.

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about, Stella. You know damn well I never kissed Mitzi. You were there when she kissed me on the cheek for saving her for God's sake. That's it. What the hell is this other stuff about?" Stella could tell that Brandon was starting to lose his patience, and when Stella did not respond, he went on: "What do you expect me to do? I can't control her thoughts or actions, but I've _never_ tried to lead her on. She means nothing to me."

"You've never led her on, huh?" Stella prompted, raising a perfectly trimmed brow in his direction. "How do you explain her getting your number then?"

Brandon's brows creased together. Confusion filled his handsome features again, but then his expression changed and smoothed, contorting into one of realization. Suddenly, Brandon let go of her and took a step back, as if she had burned him. It was a small step, but the distance he put between them felt like miles instead of a few inches, and it made Stella suddenly feel very, very nauseous. Her heart plummeted from her chest at his silent confession, and an unpleasant sensation settled in her guts, twisting at her heart in a mix of anger, betrayal and resentment.

"You can't deny that, now can you?" Stella spat, shoving at his chest, willing him to argue back. To defend himself. To say something. Anything. But, to her utter frustration and dismay, Brandon did not say a word. Furious, Stella began to pound her fists against his chest, but he did not react to it in any way, standing still like a damn statue, and that only fuelled her rage even more. "You asshole! How could you! I trusted you! I should've known something like this would have happened. I should've known!"

Brandon stared at her blankly for a long moment. "Wow," he finally uttered. A low chuckle, harsh and humourless, escaped his lips.

Stella blinked once, twice — three times. She stopped hitting Brandon, hands falling to her sides, brows knitted together in incredulity. Stella liked to pride herself on being an excellent judge of character; she never had any trouble spotting subtle facial clues from others, but she could not for the life of her figure out what was going on in her boyfriend's mind. Brandon appeared to be agitated and irritated and somehow insulted, and Stella had no idea why. Stella was pretty sure she was the one who was supposed to be mad at him. Not him.

"That's it?" Stella prodded, eyes blazing, riling him further. "You don't have anything else to say for yourself?"

Brandon glared at her. "What do you want me to say, Stella? It's pretty obvious that you have already made up your mind about what happened. Does it matter what I have to say? Because I don't think my story is nearly as good as yours. I mean, how could you even—you know what? It doesn't even matter."

Brandon shook his head, turning his back on her, and her eyes widened. "No!" Stella surged forward, latching onto his arm. "Tell me! Tell me what you were gonna say!"

His shoulders stiffened. Drawing in a deep breath, Brandon shut his eyes and tried to compose himself, but Stella could tell it wasn't working because his muscles were still tensed, and his stance was practically radiating bottled-up aggression. "This insecurity that you have is beyond ridiculous."

Stella recoiled visibly, feeling as though someone had poured a bucket full of ice-cold water on her. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me right," Brandon said firmly. He was towering over her, pinning her with a withering look. "Is it that hard to have little faith in me? Is it my fault that you keep jumping to these ridiculous conclusions? I mean—look at yourself—all it took was for me to give my number to some girl for you to think that I was cheating on you."

"I never said that," Stella denied, her hackles rising.

"You didn't have to," Brandon retorted dryly. "For the record, I only gave my number to Mitzi because she wouldn't take no for an answer. She wouldn't stop pestering about it, and I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I don't even talk to her over the phone. Hell, I don't even have her number saved on my phone," and then Brandon paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes, "But, then again, what would you care? You've clearly created your own theories about what went down."

Silence fell upon the two of them, heavy and uncomfortable. His words kept replaying over and over again in her mind, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Stella did not want to admit it, but his words had stung her more than she had let on. She couldn't believe that Brandon had just insinuated that she was insecure of that—that terrible, _terrible_ dresser, of all people. Please — as if. Stella wanted to scoff at the mere thought. She was not insecure of that little bitch. She was not an insecure person.

It was all Brandon's fault, Stella decided. Brandon should have avoided that tramp in the first place. Brandon should have told her off. Brandon should have done something to make Mitzi leave him alone. But, by the looks of it, he was clearly not doing a very good job at it, which meant that he was at fault. Not her. Stella was so caught up in her feelings that she hadn't even realized she was crying until she felt a tear drop trickle down her cheek and fall to the ground, and she instinctively brought her hand to swipe under her eyes.

"Stella," Brandon began, whisper-soft. He sounded apologetic, beseeching, but Stella did not trust herself nor her judgment to look into those brown eyes. There was a beat of silence, and when Stella did not show any signs of response, she felt a hand on her arm. "Why do you always assume the worst about me?"

His voice struck a chord within her, and Stella was unable to resist lifting her gaze back toward his face, and almost as soon as she met his eyes she wished she hadn't; wish she had fought back. His chocolate-brown eyes were full of hurt and emotion, and her heart lurched at the sight, causing her breath to hitch.

Stella's eyes flickered back to the ground. Like a knife to a heart, she felt a stab of guilt pierce through her. She honestly didn't know what to say, didn't know what to think. Their whole argument had reduced her to an emotional mess. Stella struggled to find a plausible way to make sense of the ball of conflicted emotions that consisted of anger, guilt, pain and confusion and something that weighed heavily like hurt. A lot of hurt. She was still torn between feeling hurt and guilt. Uncertain, she shifted in her spot. "I think I should go."

His hand dropped from her arm, the warmth from his touch leaving her body immediately. "Right," Brandon said in a stiff and detached voice, then looked away from her, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Sure, have it your way, princess. Like you always do."

With that, Brandon turned on his heels. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes. Stella felt a sharp stab of pain rush through her chest at his words as she watched him leave. One step at a time. It felt as though a piece of her heart shredded with every bounding step he took away from her, the remnants of her heart pooling at her feet as the last sight of his silhouette faded into the depths of the night.


	2. Two

**Notes:** Wow. I'm absolutely floored by the positive response that this story has received. Thank you so much for all the follows, favourites, and especially for the reviews. You guys are _beyond_ amazing. Your reviews truly motivated me to write more, and I wish I could've updated faster, but this is honestly the fastest I could've updated given that this chapter kind of spiralled out of control, and the fact that I felt the need to re-edit and tweak some parts of this chapter more times than I'd like to admit. That, and I'm probably the slowest writer in the planet Earth. However, I have most of the next chapter written, so fingers crossed I'll be able to update it faster.

I also want to preface by saying that this is my first multi-chaptered story, so this is all very new to me, so please bear with me, okay? Okay. I just don't wanna disappoint you guys if it all turns pear-shaped or something. I do plan to finish this story, regardless. And as promised, I'll get to your comments and questions at the end. Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoy this Specialists filled chapter!

 **Rating:** PG-13

* * *

 **Only You**

────────────── • ──────────────

Chapter II

* * *

Brandon straightened up, wiping a trail of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. With his other hand, he curled his fingers around the cool metal and lowered the weights down and brought them back up again, repeating the motion. His arms rippled and flexed under the heavy weights as a slow, aching burn spread through his biceps and muscles, but he didn't stop. For the last couple of hours, Brandon had been doing various kind of exercises in an attempt to rid himself of stress, but nothing seemed to distract him from reliving the argument between him and Stella. He just couldn't get his mind to focus on anything else. It clawed at his mind like a whining child tugging at the hem of their mother's dress.

Brandon was willing to admit he had been a bit of a flirt in the past. Oh, who was he kidding, he had been worse than that. He was someone you could have labelled as the player type. Every time he had seen a pretty girl, he had made it his personal mission to get the girl and date her for a short period of time before he decided he was done with her and moved onto the next one. It had become a habit, almost. A way to pass his time. Girls were fun and easy, after all. There had never been a single time he had even entertained the thought of committing himself to a serious relationship with any of the girls he had been with before until he met Stella.

Stella made him want more; need more. Being with her was like being hooked on drugs—wickedly intoxicating and deadly addicting. Brandon never thought he'd be one of those guys that were pathetically obsessed with their girlfriend, but somehow, someway, he had fallen, sunken and become one of them. Hook, line, and sinker. And he didn't even feel an ounce of shame to admit that, which was even more absurd. It completely threw him for a loop—ah, screw the loop; it was a real whirlwind of confusion and bewilderment—but at some point the realization had struck him, and in that moment Brandon just _knew._ He knew he didn't want anyone else but her. Because Stella was the only girl he saw; the only girl he wanted; the only girl that possessed the power to make his heart do inexplicable things at the mere sight of her. Because _love_ made him do things he never could have fathomed doing before. Because being _in love_ made him strip away his ego and want to be worthy of her. Because — God, he was turning into a sap.

Brandon could have listed all the reasons why Stella was _the_ girl for him all day long, but the truth still remained the same: she was _the_ girl for him. And he had always been nothing but faithful to her. It was exactly why Brandon had no idea how Stella could doubt the one thing that she should have known was an absolute constant: his loyalty to her. He never claimed to be a saint, but goddamn it, he might as well be stamped with that stupid, wholesome label after he had met Stella. And yet, she still refused to believe him, avoided him like plague and went ahead to create her own little conclusions, not trusting him at all. It drove him crazy.

"Man, is there any food left in this shithole of an apartment?" Riven grumbled loudly, effectively interrupting the train of thought that the brunet had yet again succumbed into. Brandon allowed his head to jerk around the voice, his gaze landing on the grumpy boy peering into the fridge with his back hunched over. Slamming the door shut, Riven muttered something incoherent under his breath and began rummaging through the pantries. "Un-freaking-believable."

"You'd better not touch my food," Timmy warned from the other side of the room, comfortably perched on a stool beside the kitchen island with his beloved computer nestled on his lap.

Riven scoffed. "Don't worry, pal. There's no way I'm going near that vegan, organic, gluten-free crap."

"Mind your language, Riv. That _food_ is good for your health and the environment," the tech-genius pointed out evenly without glancing up from his computer screen as he diligently kept clicking away at the keys. Ever since the boys had arrived at planet Earth, Timmy and Tecna had spent a lot of their time watching documentaries on world poverty and vegan movement, which then had spurred them into becoming conscious about their dietary choices. "In fact, statistics show that the world hunger could be solved five times over if every person went vegan."

"Is that actually true, Timmy?" Sky peered curiously, a tuft of blond hair appearing from behind the sofa.

"Who cares? It's not like that's ever gonna happen," Riven deadpanned darkly, moving to rummage through one of the cupboards.

Adjusting his glasses, Timmy finally looked up from his laptop to shoot Riven a scolding look, but the burgundy-haired male was too busy on his quest to find food for himself to take any notice. "Yes, it's true — and no, it might not be likely to happen, but it still doesn't hurt to try and be a part of the solution."

"Ha. Finally found something to eat," Riven proclaimed with a victorious grin, ignoring whatever Timmy had said—to which the computer genius just shook his head disapprovingly—as Riven waved around a packet of potato crisps in the air. Taking long strides, Riven crossed the small space and made his way toward the sofa where Sky was currently slouched in and mindlessly flicking through channels on the TV. "Scoot over," Riven demanded, plopping down next to him, which caused the blond boy to grunt in annoyance and mumble something about people not having proper manners. Riven only shrugged carelessly at the Prince's words and stuffed a whole potato crisp in his mouth as he settled more comfortably against the pillows.

"Dude, make up your mind already. You've been at this for more than half an hour already," Riven goaded after munching on a couple of crisps. "Seriously. You're acting like one of those girls who cannot choose what stupid shade of lipstick she wants to wear to the freaking gym."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am—hey!" Sky whined pathetically as Riven, quite literally, took the matters in his hands and snatched the remote control from him. "I was just about choose a channel!"

"Oh, boo hoo. Cry me a river," Riven mocked, stabbing several times on a forward button on the remote control with his thumb before he settled to one of the sports channels.

Sky glared daggers at Riven but chose not to say anything. Riven, however, looked awfully pleased with himself. Brandon could tell that Riven was well aware of Sky's annoyance, and like the sadist prick Brandon knew Riven to be, the burgundy-haired male was clearly enjoying the reaction he got out of Sky. Typical Riven.

Brandon found himself rolling his eyes at the sight before him. Any other day he might have laughed at the absurdity of his friends or cracked a smile at the very least, but today was not one of those days. Granted, it might have been an ordinary, mundane day to witness for the squire, but something about the display grated on his nerves and crawled at his skin, and he just found the whole scene irritating.

"What's gotten you all riled up?" Riven asked, crunching on another crisp. A crinkling, rustle of a bag of potato crisps sounded in the air, and Brandon now felt two sets of eyes on him. It took him a good few seconds to realize that he was being asked a question. "Oh, don't tell me. I bet it's the prissy princess," Riven answered his own question with a dismissive shrug and turned his attention back to the TV like nothing had happened at all.

Brandon wasn't sure what caused another surge of irritation to shoot up his spine—this was typical Riven attitude, after all—but the feeling was there all the same, and he felt an overwhelming itch to swat it away and squish it to death like an annoying mosquito. Too tired to think his actions through, Brandon acted in a moment of impulsivity and grabbed his towel from his shoulders, crumpled it in his hands, and threw it at Riven.

"Hey! What the hell, man?" Riven exclaimed, jumping on his seat with cat-like reflexes as the towel hit him square on the back of his head and fell to the empty space beside him. Oddly, Brandon felt slightly better. Riven swivelled around to face Brandon and scowled, his violet eyes pinched. "I don't know what has gotten your knickers in a twist, but you sure as hell don't have to take it out on me."

Brandon ignored him. "Don't you have a date with Musa tonight?"

Riven froze.

"A date? A date. Uh-huh, yeah. Yeah, I do," Riven mumbled, uncharacteristically stuttering over his words like a little kid who he had been caught cheating on a school exam. This definitely was not an ordinary sight to witness in their household. Suddenly, Riven shot up straight and scrambled off the sofa, brushing the pile of crumbs off his jeans. He couldn't seem to stay still any longer. "I better go get ready or something."

With his hand in his spiked hair, Riven started pacing the room like a caged animal. The colour had drained from his face, and his eyes were widened, and the distress was evident across his features. Strangely enough, Brandon found the whole situation comical and couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"What?" Riven demanded gruffly, coming to a halt.

Brandon had heard Riven alright, but it took him a few moments to calm himself down and stop his laughing fit. Slowly, his laughter began to fade. "I don't think I have seen you this nervous since the day you poured melted chocolates all over Musa and gave her those allergy-inducing flowers that knocked her right out of the stage. Priceless," Brandon said, a hint of laughter still colouring his voice.

Riven fixed the squire with a dark glare. In his peripheral vision, Brandon caught a glimpse of Helia and Nabu exchanging wary, uneasy and somewhat guilty looks. Brandon wasn't surprised by the exchange. They had been the ones to advise Riven to do something nice to Musa, but somehow their broody friend had still managed to royally piss her off. How one could fail at a simple romantic gesture that involved giving a girl flowers and chocolates, Brandon had no idea — well, not until he witnessed Riven do it. Thankfully, both Helia and Nabu had come to rescue and fixed the mess by explaining everything to Musa. As a result, the music fairy had given Riven another chance to straighten up his act. So, technically, it was not a total screw-up, but Riven was known to hold grudges and obviously didn't like to be reminded of his unsuccessful attempts at trying to be nice.

"You're one to talk, Casanova. At least I have a date to go to," Riven retorted, scooping up his jacket off the back of one of the stools.

"Yeah. It's a crazy world we live in," Brandon quipped back.

"Whatever. I'm out."

After the door separating the living room clicked shut, Brandon heaved out a long, exasperated sigh and dropped his weights on the floor. Restless, he flopped down to the other sofa they had in their apartment and ran his hand through his fringe, squeezing his eyes shut. As he rubbed his hands over his face, he felt an all-too familiar headache forming at the back of his head and let out a groan.

Today was going to be a long day.

* * *

"Dude, I thought you were going to fix things between you and Stella. Not make them worse."

It was late in the Friday evening and the boys had finished their shift a long time ago in Frutti Music Bar, but most of them had stayed back to wait for the girls to return from whatever they had planned for the rest of the day. Sky and Brandon, however, still had a few more tables to clean as they had taken a longer break in between their shift to try out surfing — and let's just say it had not been all plain sailing. Both boys had readily agreed that the water sport was probably not for them and made an oath to never talk about it ever again.

"That was the plan, yeah. Thank you for pointing out the bleeding obvious," Brandon commented sarcastically with a subtle roll of his eyes as he reached over for a wash cloth from the assortment of cleaning equipment that was laid out open in the table before them.

"There's no need to get all passive-aggressive on me," Sky countered back.

"Sorry," Brandon replied gruffly, but the lack of sincerity in his half-assed apology was more than evident in his tone, and Sky seemed to have picked up on it. However, the blond boy did not seem to be deterred by it in the slightest.

"You wanna start over and tell me what happened exactly?" Sky asked, grabbing himself a sponge.

Raking his hand through his brown hair, Brandon sighed as Sky crouched down and began rubbing circles into the table with his sponge. "Well, long story short: Stella is still pissed at me. I tried to talk to her, but she was mad and wouldn't listen to anything I was saying. Y'know, the usual routine. But then, when she finally did listen, she practically accused me of cheating on her just because I had given my phone number to Mitzi. A phone number! How ridiculous is that? You would think that—"

"Is it?"

"—she would have . . ." Brandon paused. "Huh?"

"Is it?" Sky repeated.

"Is it what?"

"Is it ridiculous?"

"Well, yeah. Obviously."

Sky gave him a hard look. Brandon arched his eyebrow in question. Sky let out a sigh.

"What did you expect to happen?" Sky finally asked, raising his sponge in the air and dunking it in the bucket full of soupy water. His tone was calm and collected, and it reminded Brandon of those times when his mom would make him sit down, and tell him exactly what he had done wrong in the situation at hand while Brandon would be absolutely certain that he was innocent. Therefore, he had a feeling he wasn't going to like the direction their conversation was headed at. "It's not like you don't have a reputation."

And his feelings had been right.

"That was in the past, dude. I'm not like that anymore," Brandon snapped, his annoyance leaking through the words. It always boiled down to his past, and, frankly, Brandon was getting sick of defending himself for something he was not and had not been for a long time. Contrary to the popular belief, some people _did_ change, and Brandon liked to think he had changed from his "player" ways. If only the others would share the same sentiment, Brandon thought bitterly. With more force than necessary, he shoved his wash cloth in the same bucket that Sky had previously used and brought it back in the air. Droplets of soup-mixed water sloshed everywhere. "What's the big deal anyway? It's just a phone number, which I, by the way, didn't even intend to give in the first place, but you know how clingy Mitzi is; I figured it was easier to just give it to her, since she kept nagging for it all the time."

"That doesn't necessarily make it right," Sky tried to reason.

"Bro, she wouldn't get off my ass!" Brandon cried out in exasperation, flinging his arms up for the sake of dramatics until he let them drop to his thighs. "What was I supposed to do? Have her chase me around every waking moment of the day? No, thank you. It's just one harmless number for God's sake. Plus, she knows I'm with Stella."

Sky straightened up, squeezing the excess water from the yellow sponge before he pointed the wet, squishy object at the brunet. The sponge was carved into a smiling face, and it was now ironically mocking at Brandon with its big, black eyes and a creepy, cunning smile. Great. Now the inanimate objects were taking the piss out of him. "That's the thing, man. You don't see it being harmful, but Mitzi still thinks she has a chance with you because you've been nice enough to her this whole time. It doesn't matter to her if you're with Stella or not. Mitzi will take any chance that she thinks she has. You probably don't see it that way, but that's how she is—that's sadly how a lot of girls are," Sky explained and shuddered in what Brandon assumed was disgust at some kind of memory that had struck him.

Sky was quick to shake his head, however, and resumed back to his work. "That leads to the other problem that you have. You see, you've never been able to deny anyone anything. It might be endearing and shit, but you don't realize that people may use it against you to get what they want. It's pretty obvious that Mitzi has a crush on you, but you're not helping her case. If anything, you're unintentionally giving her the wrong impression. How do you think Stella feels about that?"

Silence ensued as Brandon let the words sink in. A slow, steady, drip-drop of water droplets trailed and dribbled from the wash cloth in his hand to his shoes, and then to his socks, but Brandon was too distracted to take any notice of it. Instead, his brows creased together in an outward display of contemplation.

Brandon hated to admit it, but he knew Sky had a point. It was true that Brandon always tried to see the good in people no matter what the situation. It was how he was raised. That was why he never wanted to hurt Mitzi's feelings and had tried to be as nice as possible when he was warding off her advances and trying not to lead her on. In his defence, while he admittedly knew Mitzi had developed some sort of a crush on him, Brandon didn't think she'd still pursue him after all the times he told her wasn't interested in her. Honestly, he thought she'd have taken the hint a long time ago and stop pestering him, but the girl was relentless and followed him everywhere like a lovesick puppy.

And now Stella was hurting because of it.

"Did you hear what happened between Stella and Mitzi the other day?" Sky suddenly cut in his thoughts.

Brandon raised his gaze to meet his. "What?"

"Bloom says they argued, and that Mitzi was running her mouth off about how close you two had apparently become and told Stella she'd be, and I quote, 'history real soon' or something along those lines. And bragging about talking with you all the time on the phone."

Brandon looked at Sky incredulously. "Dude, that's not true at all. I have never even talked with her on the phone."

"I know. And I heard Stella ended up slapping her."

"Damn," Brandon breathed. To be honest, he wasn't shocked; in fact, he was surprised that Stella had not yet made good on her promise and turned Mitzi into a toad as Brandon had remembered her threatening on that day he had rescued Mitzi from the pet monster. It was the after-thought that surfaced in his mind, which made his jaw tighten. "Did Mitzi do something to Stella?"

"Physically, no. I don't think so."

A wave of relief washed over Brandon. He wasn't sure what he'd do if Mitzi had done something to Stella. While Brandon knew Stella was more than capable of taking care of herself, it didn't change the fact that he'd always feel protective of her. Brandon didn't particularly like when girls fought one another, but he was beginning to believe that maybe Mitzi wasn't as innocent as she made herself seem. Even Sky had expressed his dislike toward Mitzi based on what he had heard about her from Bloom. Still, the brunet had given her the benefit of the doubt and seen her as a nice, friendly girl, but he was now starting to see her true colours.

And suddenly it all started to make sense. Brandon had not thought about how Stella had figured out that Mitzi had his number, but he realized it now. He realized it all now. Her anger, her accusations. The mistrust in her eyes, the quivering in her voice. Him calling her insecure. It all flashed through his mind, slide by slide, one picture frame at a time. A stab of guilt rushed through him, and he swallowed against the lump of bitter emotion rising in his throat. It all felt so wrong now. _He_ felt so wrong.

"I get it, Sky. I was a total jerk to Stella," Brandon finally admitted. He could understand why Stella had been upset, and, hell, he could even validate her concerns, but he couldn't get past the nagging feeling that cut him deeply in the knowledge that she had doubted him so easily. To know she'd jump on the bandwagon and think the worst of him every time she felt like it. "But it doesn't change the fact that she accused me of cheating on her. And that hurts, man."

Sky must have seen the anguish painted in Brandon's face because his expression softened. "Look, Bran, I'm not trying to say Stella was right to question your loyalty to her. I think we all know how much you love her and that you'd never do anything to intentionally hurt her. But I just . . . I don't know, I guess I wanted you to see the things from her perspective because there are always two sides of a story, and arguments are rarely the fault of one person."

Any reply or input Brandon might have had to the comment was disrupted by a shrill ring of a bell over the front door. Turning his attention to the sound, Brandon saw some familiar faces making their way into the smoothie bar, their voices becoming distinct and filling the air with casual chit-chat.

"I don't think roller-skating is really for me," Brandon heard Tecna mutter dejectedly, carrying a pair of purple skates in her hand as she trudged through the doors with Flora on her heels.

"Same. I think I might prefer ice-skating," Flora lamented in the same tone, holding a similar pair of skates in her hand, but then her green eyes lit up. From the corner of his eyes, Brandon spotted Helia approaching the flower fairy, and Flora immediately leaped into his waiting arms. "Oh, Helia! It's so good to see you. I had no idea you were still here. I hope you guys weren't waiting for us too long."

"I'd wait for you until my last breath, flower," Helia told her charmingly, wrapping his arms around her. Flora gave out a content sigh, nuzzling her face deeper into Helia's chest.

"Puh-lease. How hard can it be? Trust me, I've got this," another very familiar voice suddenly sounded in Brandon's ears, and his heart rate sped up.

"Fine, but be careful," Layla told the blonde girl and stepped away slightly as she let go of her hold on Stella. "Keep your eyes forward and your knees bent," Layla instructed as both girls were coming nearer to his table on their roller blades, but Brandon doubted neither of them had seen him yet. "That's it. You're starting to get the hang of it."

"It's not hard at all," Stella announced smugly, looking quite proud of herself. "I'm actually pretty good at this roller-skating thing."

"You're not bad for a beginner, I'll give you that." Layla grinned, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "You ready for rule number five?" There was a dare-devil gleam in her eyes, and the lop-sided grin that had stretched across her face looked anything but innocent. If Brandon knew Layla at all, he was pretty confident that those were sure signs to indicate that the Princess of Andros had some kind of devious plan brewing inside her head.

"What's rule number five?" Stella asked, wobbling slightly in her stance as she directed her attention back to the water fairy. Her caramel eyes widened almost comically when she caught a glimpse of Layla's face. To an outsider, it appeared as though that single glance was enough for Stella to decipher what Layla was up to, and Stella didn't look too thrilled about it. It always baffled Brandon how women could communicate with one another without any verbal cues. "Layla, I swear to Great Dragon, if you dare—" Stella started slowly and steely, but Layla had already shoved her forward.

Stella shrieked.

"Let it go! That's rule number five!"

Layla was cheering and clapping her hands like a proud mother, but all the noises that were produced by her were drowned out by the sounds of squeals that came from the sun fairy. Stella had put her flailing hands forward as if to grab onto the thin air and hold it for dear life, but she soon seemed to realize that her actions were useless and shielded her face with her hands to brace herself from whatever that was in front of her.

Before Stella could have fallen over one of the tables, or stumbled, and face-planted with the floor, Brandon had stepped forward and stopped her, catching her by the arm. Her skates skidded to a halt. The force of his tug and the speed of her skates were enough to make her collide with Brandon, but he managed to keep them both upright. Holding her against his chest, Brandon felt a sudden jolt of spark pass through his body as a strange sense of déjà vu overtook him.

In that moment, the universe around him seemed a little detached, a little blurred. The world might have crumbled into ashes and burned to cinders, and he'd still only be able to stand there, rooted to place, transfixed. Followed by the numb, petrified state, a warm, familiar flutter settled deep in the pit of his stomach, reminding Brandon of how much he had missed the feel of her body; the way it fit perfectly against his; the way it made his heart race; the way it sent his mind reeling, and just . . . her. He missed _her_. All of her.

Slowly, Stella removed her hands from her face. Her eyelids fluttered open, widening in surprise as his eyes caught hers. They were unreadable, but golden. So golden. And, then, something flickered in those golden eyes, and Brandon felt his heart ache at the shadowed hurt that lurked behind the depths of her golden pools. The emotion was barely noticeable, a faint swirl of caramel brown, but it was there, and it tore him apart.

"I thought I told you to keep your eyes open, Stella. That was rule number one," Layla berated in a playful tone. Brandon turned his head to acknowledge the new presence and saw the water fairy sporting a knowing grin on her face as one of her hands rested on her waist while the other held up an index finger. "Remember?"

"Oh, I will show you rule number one," Stella growled, getting up and skating with surprising fast reflexes and skills to chase down her friend who was now openly laughing with her head bent back while effortlessly gliding away from the blonde's wrath.

Brandon sighed, watching the blonde girl who had made him fall in love with her in more ways than one, and wondered how long it would take him to get her to warm up to him again.

* * *

 **Notes:** There you have it, a glimpse in Brandon's mind. I actually really enjoyed writing about the Specialists and their household dynamic through Brandon's POV — which is another first for me. What did you guys think about it? I know I said the girls would appear in this chapter as well, but I got a bit carried away with the boys, hence the spiralling out that I mentioned earlier, but I promise the girls will have more screen time in the next one! And, just out of curiosity, do you guys prefer reading from Brandon or Stella's point of view? Would love to know!

Okay, I'll stop rambling now and get to your comments.

 **Aminata Toure:** Thank you!

 **Shayna:** Yay, another Brella shipper! I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter and decided to drop in to read and review. Appreciate it.

 **Guest:** Thank you! Super glad you liked it. Hope this update was not too terribly late!

 **Louri Goldin:** Wow, thank you for such kind words! Don't worry, I already have most of the ideas planned out for this story, so it's highly unlikely that I would abandon this story. To answer your other question, I hadn't thought about it, but I'd say neither Stella nor Brandon are virgins in this story. They've been together for quite a while now, and they aren't exactly known to be prudes, so yeah — not virgins. In my headcanon, they were totally each other's first in that particular aspect though. ;)

 **Drewismylife** : Oh my God, thank you, thank you, thank you! I feel so honoured to be your first review. It means a lot. And I know, right? I'd say I have been on this site for a long time, and I don't think I recall anyone writing about the situation either. Anyway, thank you for your lovely words! You are awesome! :)

 **Stelz:** Aw. You're so sweet! I'm happy you liked the chapter, and I hope this one wasn't as sad! The next one just might, maybe, perhaps, have some fluff in it. ;)

 **Login:** You _are_ awesome! Your review totally made me smile. Thank you!

 **Guest:** I couldn't agree more! One minute they're fighting, and then they're back to normal like nothing happened. Like, what the frick? Thanks for reading and reviewing, and I hope you liked this chapter with the Specialists in it.

 **Winxer4life** : Thank you! I'm sorry I couldn't add Flora/Helia or Bloom/Sky. All the canon couples will be hinted at, but, if I'm being honest, I'm not sure if the other couples will have that much spotlight in this story.

 **Xfangirl123X:** Thanks for reading and reviewing, girl! Hope you liked the chapter. :)

 **Sunlight Halation:** Preach. That's _exactly_ what I thought. Brandon can be so naïve and clueless sometimes. Smh. At times, I feel like he's too good for his own good. And yes, the other guys could most definitely use some advice from Helia and Nabu! Thanks for your review; it's always nice to see what people think about the characters and the plot!

 **NOUNAIMNOULAIVE:** You mean you have read the chapter more than once? Wow. I'm truly flattered if that's the case. I don't have an uploading schedule, but I'll try to post a new chapter within a month, at the latest. Thank you for reading and reviewing!

 **A Poisonous Tree:** I already PM'ed you, but I still wanted to thank you for being your awesome-self and sticking with me for, what, 84 years? That's a long time, dude. I appreciate it, and I appreciate you. Your comments always make me smile! :) I really, really hope this didn't disappoint you! P.S. You need to publish SS ASAP!

 **Guest:** Thank you for your review! And I apologize for not being able to update sooner.

 **sherlerian:** Thank you!

 **SilverBookNerd:** Thank you! I'm very glad to hear that!

Did I say you guys are awesome? Because you totally are.

xoxo,

Eve


	3. Three

**Notes:** So, so, so sorry for the late update. I've been super busy with college and work. That being said, I appreciate the patience and the continued support. I absolutely love hearing your thoughts. It always blows my mind and warms my heart to read that some of you've been reading the chapters more than once and have been finding my writing style enjoyable to read. Thank you. Y'all are amazing. I tried to make this chapter extra long to make up for the delay.

 **Rating** : PG-13

* * *

 **Only You**

────────────── • ──────────────

Chapter III

* * *

"You're doing great, sweetie!"

"Yeah, you can do this!"

"You're almost there!"

"Just a little more to go!"

"Hold _still_!"

Begrudgingly, Musa filled her lungs with yet another long stream of air. Heat prickled her face when she felt the colour of her cheeks start to shift from dusky pink to deep scarlet. Who would've known attempting to wear just a size smaller dress would cause this much trouble and commotion? Musa certainly didn't. She also didn't know how on Magix she had let her shopaholic of a best friend convince her to buy the satanic dress in the first place.

"Dammit, Stella," Musa grounded out, her breaths wheezing. "I can't do this! Can I just try out a new dress?"

"Nuh-uh. Suck it in!"

"I am!"

"Well, try harder!"

More grunts. More frustrated breaths, more torturous suffering. Musa was spewing expletives and curses left and right under her breath through gritted teeth while trying to suck in as much breath as possible. The rest of the Winx girls had huddled around the two fairies, snickering—or at least trying, very poorly, if Musa might add, to suppress their laughs—at the distressed fairy with an exception of Flora whose face was adorned with genuine concern and Stella who shared an almost identical expression of disgruntlement with Musa while trying to pull the zipper of the dress up.

Fortunately, the zipper was finally done after a particularly forceful tug and a click of a clasp later. Musa's body visibly relaxed, the stiffness in her body evaporating as her shoulders sagged down, relieved and limp, with an exhale.

"See? I told you it would all be worth it in the end," Stella chirped with an excited lilt to her voice, beaming brightly as though she had just created a world-renowned masterpiece. "You look absolutely fabulous."

With an uncertain look in her navy-blue eyes, Musa cast a glance in the mirror. True — she might have looked good in the form-fitting red dress that ended above her knees, but Musa couldn't ignore the fact that it didn't reflect the way she felt about it. The dress clung to her body like a second skin, hugging her body in all the right places — _and_ , unfortunately, also all the wrong places. Such as her poor internal organs at the moment. Musa could have sworn she heard them wail in pain at being mercilessly lumped together.

"Why the pouty face?" Stella was first to ask, interrupting Musa from her thoughts, confused as to why the music fairy was not sharing her jubilation.

"How am I supposed to breathe in this thing?" Musa demanded. "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's not only uncomfortable, but it's also cutting off my airways."

"Oh, Musa," Stella crooned in a placating tone, shaking her head in a rueful manner like one might do when they felt pity for a fashionably challenged person who didn't understand the simplest rules of style. Or maybe that was just Stella. "It's like my fairy godmother always says: fashion knows not of comfort. All that matters is the face you show to the world," Stella recited the words religiously with a proud tilt of her head. (1) However, Musa did not look too convinced if the sceptical brow she had lifted was anything to go by. Stella subtly rolled her eyes in response and resorted to her next weapon: guilt-tripping. "Besides, you really shouldn't have eaten all those glazed donuts from the party last night. Do you have any idea how many calories they have in them?"

"According to my calculations, one of those donuts that Musa consumed consisted of a total of two-hundred and seventy-nine calories. That would approximately make thousand and three-hundred-ninety-five calories for five donuts that she ate," Tecna supplied helpfully from her position on a pink fluffy rug. "Though recent studies have shown that eating a small amount of sugary sweets can actually boost your metabolism system, and therefore help you lose some weight."

The blonde girl perked at the last statement and swivelled around to face the pink-haired fairy. "No way. You are kidding, right? Is that true, Tec?"

Tecna nodded solemnly. "Yes. Sugar triggers the taste receptors and causes the brain activity to—"

"Uh, guys?" Musa cut off Tecna's scientific ramble of the day, waving her hands around herself to draw attention to her. "Sorry to interrupt your oh-so helpful and delightful conversation, but can we take the moment to focus on me now? And, please, not on the calorie count of the donuts that I ate, like, a week ago!"

"It was actually two days—" Tecna started.

"Whatever! It doesn't matter!"

"Geez. Someone's in a crabby mood today. Did you forget to take your chill pills this morning?" Stella joked light-heartedly, trying to instill some humour in their little squabble. However, her humour was not well-received nor appreciated by the music fairy as Stella only managed to earn herself a hardened look from her. "Or, maybe not?" Stella chuckled nervously, raising her hands in surrender. Musa could be scary when she wanted to be.

"If it wasn't for you forcing me into this small dress, I wouldn't even be in this stupid mood because of a stupid dress that—"

"Hey! Don't diss the dress. It's your fault that you couldn't fit in it because—"

"It's one size too small!"

"— _you_ decided to eat all those donuts even if we told you not to."

"Enough about the donuts!" Musa yelled exasperatedly.

"Alright, you guys! Knock it off!" Bloom quickly stood up, intervening, her open palms stretched out on either side of her. With a calm, authoritative air that seemed to come naturally to the redhead, Bloom let her hands slowly fall to her sides and glanced at Stella first. "Stella, I'm sure you can figure out a way to make her dress fit better," Bloom told her. Stella crossed her arms, muttering something under her breath about donuts and dresses, but she did not protest any further. Bloom then spun around to face Musa, her face softening. "And Musa, try to relax, okay? We all know you're stressed about the performance that you have tonight, but don't worry about it. We all know you're going to nail it like you always do."

"Bloom is right. You're going to perform amazingly, sweetie," Flora agreed, shooting Musa an encouraging smile.

"Thanks, girls." Musa smiled back earnestly, immediately feeling the calming effects from their kind words.

Bloom regarded the rest of the girls and clasped her hands together. "Now, I don't think we're needed here anymore. Let's just leave Stella and Musa to finish the job on their own."

The girls nodded and left one by one, but not before giving their own variations of goodbyes and words of encouragement. After the door clicked shut, Musa turned around to face Stella who already had her eyes closed in concentration, twirling her fingertips in a way Musa knew she was casting a spell.

"Seriously?" Musa exclaimed in disbelief, running her fingers over the silky material of the dress after the spell had been completed and noting that the dress had loosened up to the point she didn't feel like suffocating in it anymore. Musa shot the blonde an unimpressive look. "You couldn't have done that before? Y'know, before I was just about to die from all the exertion you put me through?"

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen. You were fine."

Musa stared at Stella incredulously. "Did _you_ just call _me_ a drama queen?"

Stella waved a hand in the air, as if to swat Musa's words away. "Oh, get over it. You have to admit it was way more fun and entertaining doing it the Earth way."

"Right, _of course_ ," Musa scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure it was very entertaining for you guys. For me? Not so much."

"Anyhow," Stella drawled in a sugary voice, dismissing the topic completely as she dug through her make-up bag to produce a tube of bright red lip gloss. "Are you nervous about bringing Riven to the show?"

Musa sceptically eyed the colour of the lip gloss. Had she not been too tired to care, she might have protested and bargained for a more neutral shade instead of contemplating right now whether she had the strength to defy Stella or not. In the end, Musa let Stella have her way and settled for a sigh. "Yes and no. I appreciate that he's coming to support me, but at the same I hope he doesn't cause any ruckus. Somehow, though, I feel good about this. About us. I think he has finally stepped up on his game. Y'know?" Musa paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Right?"

"I'd say," Stella affirmed, recalling all those times Riven had made a fool out of himself only to impress Musa. Admittedly, Stella had never been the biggest advocate for their tumultuous relationship, but she had seen the way Riven cared for Musa in his own weird ways, and that had made Stella re-evaluate and think that maybe, just maybe, their relationship wasn't destined to be doomed and maybe Riven wasn't as bad as he sometimes portrayed himself to be. Though, that didn't mean Stella would hesitate to kill him with her bare hands if he ever happened to hurt Musa again. "Stop biting your lip, hun. You'll crease your skin and ruin your make-up."

"Sorry," Musa muttered in a clipped tone.

Stella uncapped the tube of lip gloss and began to apply the colour on Musa's lips. "Don't worry about Riven," Stella commented after a while, daintily swiping the gloss applicator. "I bet on my favourite flare heels that Riven will be drooling over you in this dress."

Musa couldn't help the sly smile that twitched at the corners of her lips. "Yeah?"

"Uh-huh," Stella said in ways of agreement as she finished applying the lip gloss, closed the tube, put it down and took a step back to admire her handiwork. "There. You're golden, girl. Trust me, Riven is the last thing you'll have to worry about. Poor guy will not even know what hit him once he sees _this,_ " Stella finished with flourish, gesturing toward the length of Musa's body with her hand.

Musa couldn't stop the small laugh that erupted out of her throat. One could always, without a doubt, trust Stella to booze them up when they needed unsolicited praise or words of encouragement to sway in their favour. Time after time, Musa had come to appreciate the gesture despite how ridiculous Stella sometimes tended to be or how outrageously she sometimes liked to flatter her. Looking at her now, Musa couldn't help but notice that her normally cheerful disposition was dimmer than usual. Some stray strands escaped her messy up-do and few faint black circles rimmed her eyes through the cracks of her foundation, highlighting the fact that Stella hadn't been sleeping too well.

Hence, haltingly, Musa dared to venture, "How are things with you and Brandon?"

Stella stiffened, but she was quick to fix a well-practiced plastic smile on her face. "Peachy."

"You don't seriously expect me to believe that, do you? Musa stated flatly. "Look, I don't know what exactly happened between you two, but I don't think it was nice of you to accuse him of cheating."

Stella's eyes widened for a split second and she appeared shocked by the jab, but then she quickly schooled her features and averted her eyes. "That's not true," she argued indignantly. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to say the actual words to mean it, Stella. I'm pretty sure the insinuation was clear to him."

Stella humphed. "It's not my fault he chooses to hang out with that tacky skank. That's all on him."

With a tilt of her head, the statuesque blonde walked over to her bed and plopped herself onto it, letting her back crash onto the mattress with a soft thud. Even in her current getup that consisted of a faded green over-sized hoodie — which conveniently happened to belong to Brandon — and a pair of knee-high socks, Stella still managed to possess that bit of polished class and glamorous flair to look absolutely stunning. It might not have been an outfit choice Stella would have usually opted for, but it was the one she had lately grown fond of. That shapeless hoodie, in particular, had become a staple piece in her nightwear collection, an indicative of the fact that Stella missed her boyfriend more than she cared to admit out loud. And Musa was determined to make her see that.

Musa studied the blonde across the room for a moment longer before she spoke up again. "If it bothers you that much, then why don't you go and talk to him? I'm fairly certain he'd listen to you if you stopped ignoring him. And kept your claws to yourself."

Stella hoisted herself back up into an upright position and glared at Musa through her long lashes as the musical fairy approached her. "That's just it. I shouldn't have to tell him a single thing. He should know better."

"Did you forget that he was born with a Y chromosome?" Musa pointed out, taking a seat on the edge of Stella's bed. Stella gave her a quizzical look. Musa figured she could have worded that one better and went on to elaborate, "He's a guy, Stella. All guys are dumb. They need everything to be spelled out for them in bright, bold red letters. Bigger the better."

Stella half-snorted, half-laughed. "Amen to that."

Sighing, Stella drew her legs up to her chest and examined her perfectly polished nails in attentive scrutiny. "Honestly, Brandon can be just so . . . dumb and infuriating sometimes — and _don't_ even get me started on that she-demon," Stella griped, bitterness bleeding through her voice. "I mean, she is all over him, Musa. Like a freaking leach. She won't even leave him alone for a second."

"Listen. It shouldn't matter—"

"That bitch even had the nerve to serenade him! _Serenade_!" (2)

"It was only a song—"

"Just a _song_?" Stella snarled viciously, her eyes flashing dangerously. A storm of anger ignited in Stella just as she leapt out of her bed. Stella then began to pace around the room while making a series of hand gestures in the air to express her frustration regarding the topic at hand. "Only _I_ can to sing to Brandon. Only _I_ get to do that. Only _I_ am allowed to do that. Okay? That bimbo with hideous sense of fashion had no right to start singing a romantic song to _my_ boyfriend. I swear that little manipulative bitch is doing everything in her power to get Brandon, and I just— _ugh_ —I sometimes I want to pulverize him for being so damn stupid and oblivious!"

Quick, shallow breaths filled the apartment after Stella caught herself in a tirade. All was silent except for the little puffs of air. Not at all surprised by the sudden outburst, Musa simply clasped her hands together in her lap and stared at Stella, waiting for her to regulate her breathing and regain her composure.

"Are you done?" Musa finally asked, eyeing the blonde girl with an arched brow.

Lips slightly parted, Stella's head snapped up and her eyes amber eyes widened, as though she had been caught red-handed. With a slight shake of her head and a roll of her eyes, Stella muttered a low, reluctant "yes" under her breath. A strand of blonde hair fell into her eyes and Stella tried to blow it away from her face, but the strand only stayed out of the way for a brief moment before it flopped right back to its original position. Stella cursed, pushing back the piece of hair with her hand.

"Are you sure?"

Stella glanced up at Musa with an exasperated look. "Oh, come off it. Spill."

Musa got up from the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles on her red dress. "Look, forget about Mitzi. That girl has more issues than all your Teen Fairy magazines combined. She's not worth any of this," Musa reasoned, moving to stand in front of the blonde. "I know you're angry with Brandon, but you gotta realize that you're the only person he cares about. He doesn't care about Mitzi—or any other girl for that matter. He only cares about you. He has only ever cared about you. Maybe it's about time you swallowed your pride and gave him a chance."

Musa watched as Stella folded her arms across her chest and jutted out her chin defiantly, huffing. Whether Stella didn't want to admit it out loud that Musa was right or if she just wanted to be annoyingly stubborn, Musa wasn't entirely sure. Maybe it was both. Musa was about to follow up her argument with another comment until she heard the tell-tale _ping_ of a text message, and her hand automatically reached out for her phone that laid in the midst of Stella's cluttered vanity. A quick look at the screen informed her that the message was from Riven. Just as she was about to open the message, Musa felt a pair of hands shoving her.

"Go," Stella ordered, already pushing the startled fairy toward the front door before she even had a chance to read the message. "Your Romeo must have already arrived."

"But—"

"No buts, Miss Popstar. C'mon. Chop, chop. Get a move on. You don't wanna be late from your first big show, now do you?" Stella stated firmly, her grip tightening on Musa's shoulders. "Now, go make that grand entrance and show them what you're made of."

Sputtering protests sounded in the air, but Stella paid no heed to them as she continued to wheel Musa forward to the exit. "Don't think this conversation is over," Musa managed to yell over her shoulder just as Stella muttered a "Yeah, yeah," and plastered a cheery smile on her face and waved her goodbye, closing the door.

Letting out a self-deprecating sigh, Stella let her back slide against the door. Truthfully, Stella was tired of talking about her relationship, tired of talking about Brandon. She knew her friends meant well, but she'd honestly rather have stayed in her bed, curled under her expensive satin sheets, watching the sappiest rom-com movies Earth had to offer while stuffing her face with the unhealthiest food she could find and then forget about everything. Sounded simple enough. Except it wasn't. It only prolonged the empty feeling she'd get.

With a miserable pout, Stella brought her legs up to her chin and let her eyes absentmindedly scan around the room until, suddenly, they landed upon a small photo that laid under the bedside table. Curious, Stella crouched over to pick it up, and turned it over. Her breath hitched at the first glance upon the photo, and Stella swallowed against the tightness that threatened to wrap itself around her throat as she found herself get immersed in a past memory.

────────────── • ──────────────

 _"You're insufferable, you know that?" Stella rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway._

 _"That's not what I heard you say last night, babe," Brandon teased with a playful edge to his voice, his chin resting against her collarbone. "Try dashing, sexy, alluring or—y'know, hot. That's always a classic."_

 _Stella hummed, noncommittal. "Don't forget cocky. That's always attractive," she quipped wryly._

 _Brandon raised his head to look at her with the slightest quirk in his mouth. A hint of a smile, a hint of mischief. All lopsided and endearing. "Are you saying I'm cocky now?"_

 _"I'm sure that's a well-established fact."_

 _"Who says?"_

 _"I say."_

 _One side of his mouth lifted further, crinkling his eyes, the barest hint of a smile twisting into that boyish smirk Stella knew all too well. Soft, pristine white bed sheets rustled when Brandon propped himself up onto his elbows._ _"Well, I wouldn't know about that. But," Brandon paused and leaned in closer to her, lowering his voice, like a secret, "I'd definitely say I'm hot."_

 _"I rest my case," Stella readily commented in reference to her earlier remark._

 _Not a moment later, Stella squealed, finding herself on her back with Brandon above her, his chest against her chest; her legs encased between his legs; his hands planted on either side of her head. The bed creaked under the sudden movement, but neither of them paid any attention to it._

 _"Take that back," Brandon whispered huskily, his face hovering over her. A chill skirted down her back as Stella was momentarily distracted by the way his muscles flexed underneath his shirt; momentarily reminded by the way those same muscles had felt underneath her fingertips just last night, and her stomach fluttered at the thought until she willed herself to gather her wits. Lifting her gaze back to his face, she saw that his trademark self-satisfied grin had already adorned his features._ _"Admit I'm hot."_

 _Stella decided to go along and bite the bullet. "You're right, you are."_

 _Brandon grinned. "There. Wasn't that hard, was it?"_

 _A small smirk flirted at the corners of her lips. Two could play at the game, Stella thought. Her fingers curled around the collar of his shirt, tugging at it lightly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Her smirk only grew when she saw Brandon's line of vision shift to her lips, his eyes darkening with lust and want. Slowly, playfully, she hooked her right foot around his calf and pushed against his shoulders, taking advantage of the moment to flip him over and climb on top of him, reversing their roles. Both figuratively and literally. And Stella couldn't deny the thrill of it. She liked having the upper hand, after all._

 _"Have I also mentioned how hot you look in that shirt?" Stella practically purred. "I wonder who gave it to you."_

 _A cloud of desire lingered in his darkened, dazed eyes, but then it slowly cleared, and his mouth curved into a crooked grin, just enough to make his dimple appear in his right cheek._ _"This one girl gave it to me. I don't think you know her, but she's pretty cool."_

 _"Oh, yeah?" Her mouth started to curl up, but Stella bit down on her bottom lip to stop it. "She seems to have great taste. Tell me more about her."_

 _Brandon chuckled. "What do you wanna know?"_

 _Stella's shoulders rose and fell in a faux nonchalant manner. "Anything. Indulge me."_

 _Another chuckle. God, that sound again. It messed with all her senses._

 _"Well, for starters, she's very beautiful. Absolutely stunning," Brandon humoured her and placed his hands on either side of her waist, taking some of the weight on her arms. "Spontaneous, kind and lively. Fun and charming." Stella giggled, letting him know she was hanging onto every word, and Brandon gave her an easy-going smile in return, feathering his thumbs across the soft planes of her waist. "She's also very stubborn. A bit of a spitfire. Likes her coffee extra-hot — half-caf with two shots of espresso, two pumps of hazelnut, and three pumps of white mocha. God forbid you miss a single item in that list; all hell will break loose. Been there, faced that."_

 _A petulant scowl presented itself in her face. "Is this your way of saying I'm crazy?"_

 _Like any other person, Stella needed her morning coffee to function. Her coffee order might have been a bit on the complicated side, but that was how Stella liked her coffee. That was how she_ needed _her coffee. She may have had thrown a hissy fit when Brandon had gotten her order wrong by getting two pumps of plain mocha instead of her regular three pumps of white mocha. And, okay, Stella might have also gotten a little pissy, and she might have demanded him to get her another cup after getting her order wrong. Big whoop. It wasn't like she meant to be cranky in the mornings. And, for the record, Stella had apologized to him later._

 _"Your words, not mine." An unruly smirk flitted across his lips._

 _Stella shoved at him playfully. "I can't believe you're still mad about the whole coffee thing."_

 _"I was never mad about it, babe," Brandon refuted, tweaking a lock of her blonde hair._

 _"You promise?"_

 _"I promise," Brandon assured her, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips. There was an amused glint in his eyes when he pulled back. "Relax. I'm just teasing you."_

 _Stella opened her mouth to reply, but Brandon had already placed a silencing finger on her lips before she had a chance to utter a word._

 _"Who said I was talking about you anyway?" Brandon continued, letting his hand fall back to the curve of her waist. "Like I was saying, she can be a bit of a spitfire from time to time, but I don't mind. It's one of her many personality traits that I've come to love. This girl is one of a kind, I tell you. She is full of bravado, but she's really sweet when you get to know her. She's irreplaceable and incomparable to me."_

 _Stella's heart tightened with emotion._

 _By the time Brandon had finished, the playfulness in his chocolate gaze had vanished and the teasing tone had disappeared from his voice, leaving in its place a sombre note_ — _one that Stella was able to recognize from some of their more serious conversations. Even now, years later, Stella realized that his words still had that uncanny, unfathomable ability to reduce her insides into a pile of mush. None of her past boyfriends had been able to do that. Not even in the early stages of a relationship._

 _Sitting upright on his lap, Stella paused to chew on his words pensively, studying him. Everything about him was enticing. His chiselled jawline, his defined cheek bones, his soft brown hair, and, finally, his gorgeous brown eyes_ — _the ones that could've made any girl weak in the knees. And that wasn't all. He was also sweet and funny and attentive and caring. Everything Stella could've asked in a guy and more. There wasn't a single doubt in her mind that Brandon could've gotten any girl he wanted, and yet here he was. With her. Even though Stella wasn't one to doubt herself — she liked to think she knew her worth — she couldn't help but wonder how she'd gotten lucky enough to end up with Brandon._

 _"Bran?" Stella inquired quietly, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth._

 _"Yeah?"_

 _"Can I ask you something?"_

 _Stella felt herself move slightly as Brandon brought himself up into a sitting position while she still remained seated in his lap. He stared at her for a long moment before his brows furrowed. "What is it, Stell?"_

 _"Did you mean it? About what you said earlier," Stella prompted, her eyes trained on his, and then, in a softer tone, she clarified, "About me."_

 _"'Course I did," Brandon told her with no hesitation in his voice as something shifted in his expression —_ _something deliciously intense. It was electrifying; the way he looked at her, the way his gaze bore into hers, like she was all that mattered in the universe. Like she was the flame, and he was the moth that was drawn to her. His expression softened and his hand lifted up to cup her cheek, and, instinctively, Stella felt herself close her eyes and melt into his touch. "Why wouldn't I?"_

 _Stella shrugged a single shoulder, causing a portion of her long, golden hair to spill over one side as she suddenly felt uncharacteristically bashful. "I don't—I, um," Stella stammered, her eyes downcast, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger in a demure tick until she cleared her throat and let the piece of hair unravel. It was strangely unnerving, to feel self-conscious. Stella rarely allowed herself to feel this way, let alone show this side of her to anyone. She had always believed vulnerability to be a character flaw. A sign of weakness. And Stella despised weakness. Hated even more admitting it. But, God, she couldn't help herself around Brandon. There was just something about him that made her want to break the fortress she had built around her heart for him. "I didn't know you thought so highly of me."_

 _"Stella," Brandon began, her name sounding like a sacred prayer in the night, tasting like sweet heaven on the tip of her tongue. Stella opened her eyes, and her gaze travelled all the way from his chest, up toward his neck, to his chocolate browns, and the flickering fire behind them made her breath catch in her throat. His fingers brushed past her cheek as he tucked a stray lock of sunshine hair behind her ear. Her skin tingled and her heart thudded in anticipation, beating fast, fast, fast, and she wondered if he could hear it; wondered if he had any idea what he was doing to her. "You mean the world to me. Of course I'd think highly of you."_

 _Stella wasn't sure if Brandon had leaned in first, or if she had dragged him down by the collar of his shirt, but it didn't matter because the moment their lips found one another in a heated kiss, Stella couldn't bring herself to care about the petty, little details. Her legs wrapped around his middle, and his hand pressed against the small of her back, tangling in her blonde hair, as his other hand tilted her head for a better angle, a better access. It was all taste, touch, and feeling after that, and Stella blissfully let herself get swept away in the cocoon of his warm, safe arms._

────────────── • ──────────────

Stella felt a sad smile tug at the corners of her lips at the recollection behind the photograph. It all seemed like a distant memory now. Tucking the photo away, a pang of guilt shot through her chest **.** She felt like an idiot to let herself think that Brandon would ever be unfaithful to her. To think it would've mattered what some skank felt about him. To accuse him of doing something she always deep down knew he would never do.

Trying to find a semblance of calmness, Stella breathed in the scent of the hoodie. A wave of disappointment crashed over her almost immediately at the bitter realization that the familiar scent that she associated with comfort and security had already washed away only to be replaced by a faint smell of oranges and vanilla — her body wash. It might have been a scent that Stella approved of, but right now she didn't want it. She didn't want oranges and vanilla. She didn't want fruity and girly; she wanted pines and sandalwood. She wanted that intoxicatingly strong, woodsy, comforting scent that could only belong to one person she knew. And she wanted that person. She wanted Brandon.

She _just_ wanted Brandon.

* * *

(1) "As my mother always says: fashion knows not of comfort. All that matters is the face you show the world." _— Gossip Girl_

(2) There's an episode where both Mitzi and Stella start singing to Brandon. I think it was in episode eight or nine from season four.

* * *

 **Notes:** I've wanted to write fluff ever since I wrote the first chapter for this story and I figured the only option, right now, was to write it in a flashback form. It's ridiculously fluffy, I know, but, honestly, I love fluff. The story line will start to pick up next chapter, and I can almost guarantee that it will not end on an angst-y note.

Before I forget: I'll try and write from both Brandon and Stella's point of views from now on, since the opinions were pretty much split evenly. Thank you for letting me know your preferences. And about the previous virginity question, I meant that Stella and Brandon are not virgins in this story and that they had lost it to each other. Hope that cleared it up.

As always, any feedback is welcome and greatly appreciated.

xoxo,

Liv


	4. Four

▬▬ **Notes:** I'm posting again. Very late. Like a trillion years late. Seriously though, I apologize for the late update. I know it has been almost three months, but this chapter just didn't want to cooperate with me at all. Anyway, I won't bore you with details. Huge thanks to all you lovely people who've been reading and reviewing and supporting this story in any way! I appreciate it more than you know.

Nouri: Thank you for such a nice and thoughtful review! Characterization is one of those things that I'm always most self-conscious about when writing, so it makes me very happy that you're liking the way I'm portraying the characters so far. I try to stick to the canon personalities from the earlier seasons as much as I can while giving the characters a bit more depth. In response to your question, both Brandon and Stella are twenty years old in this story. xx

chrissydxnn: Thank you for your continued support and patience! I always love reading your reviews ── they're so encouraging and motivating! And I completely agree with everything you've said about the situation regarding Brandon and Stella. Half the time I'm reminding myself why they're even fighting because it's not as black and white anymore, and there's just a lot of misunderstanding going on. I really hope this long overdue chapter isn't too disappointing. xx

▬▬ **Tumblr:** I made a tumblr account! (Yes. I'm late to the party.) But if anyone wants to come and say hi, or join my internet ramblings, feel free to hit me up ── I go by _liviennelivienne_. I'll probably start posting story previews, chapter updates and things like that there, too. **EDIT:** I've posted some fluffy Brella headcanons, in case anyone is interested.

* * *

 **Only You**

───────── ·⅋· ─────────

 _Chapter IV_

* * *

"I feel useless."

Tucked away beneath a large beach umbrella, bathing in its shade, on a balmy summer afternoon, Brandon sank into his seat, sliding his elbows onto the table in front of him. He could hear the faint buzz of laughter and chatter wafting through the air, the sound of waves lapping at the shoreline, of seagulls flapping their wings and squawking in the sky above, of children giggling as they frolicked on the sand, delighted, without a care in the world; so pure, so innocent. It should've been downright criminal to feel anything less than joyous on a lively day like this, but Brandon couldn't help but feel a little disgruntled. Riven seemed to have picked up on his vibe and lifted his gaze from across the table where he sat opposite Brandon, regarding him with a raised eyebrow, before returning his attention back to the newspaper in his hands.

"What is it now?" Riven asked in a flat, indifferent tone.

That was more than enough to spur Brandon on.

So, he set his phone down and went on to rant. "Don't you think we should already be ── oh, I _dunno_ ── fighting off shadow monsters and frost giants and hunting down trolls and ghouls? Going on bigger missions? But _no_ ," Brandon drawled, sarcastic, stretching out the last syllable for extra emphasis, "instead, we're stuck here waiting tables and babysitting our girlfriends who barely even acknowledge us." He slouched further against the table, his chin propped on his folded arms. "Frickin' useless."

"Why don't you make yourself useful and go get me a drink?" Riven suggested, offhanded. "I could use some sunscreen, too."

Brandon arched a brow, peering up at the other male through his side-swept bangs, unimpressed by the lacklustre response. "Want me to braid your hair, too?" and then the brunet straightened in his seat and reached out his hand across the table, poking at one of the spiky ends of Riven's maroon hair, severely testing his luck ── and probably pushing it a bit, too, truth be told ── but Brandon was never one to hold himself back, and he was bored out of his mind. "You know, if you let your hair down and dyed it blonde, you'd start to look like one of those surfer dudes ── y'know, the ones all pretty girls in small bikinis go gaga over," Brandon told him conversationally. And then, with a perfectly impassive face, he tacked on, "Should I dye your hair, too?"

Riven's face spasmed a little, a twitch of a muscle evident in his tightened jaw. He looked like he had just swallowed a glass of swamp water, a description Brandon deemed exactingly accurate after a moment of consideration, followed by a vivid recollection of the day when Riven, in the midst of his trek through the forested wetland, had been carelessly hopping from one floating marsh to another, only to lose his balance on a particularly wobbly swamp patch and plummet face first into the swamp, swallowing a mouthful of black murky water. In spite of himself, Brandon leaned back on his seat, head thrown back, openly laughing at the look of annoyance and disgust on Riven's face.

Irritated, the redhead bristled and scowled in typical Riven fashion. "God, you're so annoying."

"I'm just saying," Brandon jested, unrepentant, a lilt of laughter lingering in his tone as he resumed his original position. "There's nothing wrong with a change of style. Look at Sky and Helia. They got a haircut, too. Maybe it's 'bout time you did something to your hair. I mean ── are we _really_ sure that purple is your colour?"

"Watch it, squire," Riven warned, eyes narrowed, but both boys knew there was no real threat behind his words. Pages crinkled in the newspaper with a sharp flick of his wrist. "Don't forget that I can always shave off all your hair while you're sleeping. See how many 'pretty girls in small bikinis' you'll attract then."

"Harsh." Brandon placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt, though a tint of smile played on his lips. "Believe it or not, some girls actually dig the bald look."

"Uh-huh. Is that a yes to chopping off your hair?"

"What── _no_. Hell no," protested Brandon, aghast.

"That's what I thought," Riven snorted, the corners of his mouth tugging upward, just a little, with the satisfaction of getting a rise out of the brunet. "Although," Riven added, his eyes glazing with a sudden spark of inspiration as a sinister smirk curled its way to his mouth, "maybe shaving off all your hair wouldn't be that bad of an idea? Think about it. It could be your secret ploy to get rid of Mitzi. She doesn't really strike me as the sort of girl to be fond of the whole bald look. What do you reckon?"

"Don't even start," Brandon said grimly.

But Riven, being Riven, looked like he was going to comment on the matter just for the sake of being spiteful, but then something shifted in his peripheral vision, and he whistled lowly, getting out of his seat and rolling up the newspaper in his hands. Leaning forward, Riven lowered his voice, "Speak of the she-devil. Your fan club has arrived, right on cue, approaching at two o'clock. Good luck, man. I'm off."

Brandon frowned, craning his neck over his shoulder to follow Riven's eyeline. Surely enough, Brandon caught the sight of the said person heading in his direction, and his face drained. "Dude, you can't just leave──" Brandon trailed off, only to find out that the traitorous redhead had already scampered off. That bastard. Brandon made a mental note to kick Riven's ass later for abandoning him like that.

Rising to his feet, Brandon briefly contemplated bolting for the nearest exit, fully prepared to make a run for it, but ditched the idea as soon as he realized any effort to slip away were bound to fall short of success, given the limited time and the scarce resources around him. Besides, the girl was relentless; Brandon was sure she'd find one way or another to locate him again despite his best efforts to stay away from her. Fighting off the urge to leave his spot, Brandon busied himself by running his fingers along the rim of his cap, tugging it, twisting it backwards, while hopelessly looking out for last-minute escape routes.

Unfortunately, things weren't looking all that good for Brandon.

A strong, floral scent permeated the air, intensifying with every sinking step and every dreaded dip in the sand the girl took toward him. For the briefest of seconds, his mind wandered back to the holidays he'd spent with his cousins and relatives, when his parents had taken both him and his little brother to their grandmother's beach house on the outskirts of Eraklyon. Their grandmother was infamous for her delectable peanut butter cups and bone-crushing hugs, but it was the pungent perfume she always wore that made Brandon scrunch his nose as a kid every time she'd lean in for a hug. Brandon couldn't help but notice a striking resemblance between the odour that surrounded him now and the fragrance that his grandmother used to wear.

"There you are!" Mitzi exclaimed, shrill and high-pitched, waving her hand in a gesture of greeting. "I've been looking _all_ over the place for you."

Brandon tried hard not to wince at the sound of her nasally voice, but he still felt a twitch at the side of his mouth by reflex. Mitzi didn't see this, however, her eyes already lowered, lingering on his body until they darted right back to his face, and her lips quirked up. "I've been meaning to give you this for a while," she admitted, producing a white envelope from behind her, thrusting it toward him. "Here."

Brandon accepted the envelope in an automatic response, limbs stiff. "Uh, thanks."

He turned the envelope over a couple of times, checking for any clues as to what might be inside, but found none, only two words written in cursive handwriting, spelling out the very obvious words, "To Brandon."

"It's an invitation to my birthday bash this weekend," Mitzi announced proudly, wearing a broad smile on her face. "Which, might I add, will be the most extravagant and fabulous party anyone has ever seen. In honor of celebrating me, of course." Coyly, she then angled her head to the side. "Speaking of which, I came to ask you for a little favor."

Between her index finger and a thumb, Mitzi coiled around a stiffened strand of raven hair while biting down on her bottom lip. Brandon recognized the pattern right off the bat. With girls, it always started with a slight tilt of a head, an elaborate twirl of a lock, often followed by a seductive bite of a lip. Not for the first time, Brandon realized, it did absolutely nothing to him. In fact, he couldn't even remember the last time he had one-on-one flirted with someone other than Stella. (That one time, in his junior year, when he had placed bets against Stella to see who could flirt with more people didn't count.) But the truth was, Brandon had known, from the very moment he'd laid eyes on Stella and the rest of the world had obscured around her, like a scene straight out of a cheesy rom-com movie, that no other girl would ever compare to her; that he'd never feel the same kind of pull with anyone else.

When Mitzi didn't clarify further, Brandon felt inclined to inquire, "What'd you wanna ask?"

Mitzi grinned brightly, oblivious to the forced baritone in his voice. "I was wondering if you'd like to come to the party as my date. Every birthday girl needs a handsome boy by their side, right?"

Brandon hesitated, shifting in his stance. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

"Oh, don't be such a spoil sport," Mitzi brushed him off playfully, waving a hand in the air. "It'll only be a for a day. It'll be fun, I promise."

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

Her face sobered, smile faltering. With a slightly drooping curl at the corner of her mouth, her black eyes narrowed on him like the scope of a long-range rifle. "Let me guess, your precious little fiancée told you to stay away from me. Isn't that right?" and without giving Brandon even a breath to try and form a response, she continued heatedly, "Honestly, what's the deal with that airhead? Like, seriously, she should just get over herself already. It never ends well with possessive girls like her," Mitzi huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Just a heads up, it's not too late to break off the engagement."

"Engagement?" Brandon echoed, confused.

Mitzi opened her mouth to say more, but then paused. "You don't know?"

His brows furrowed. "Know what?"

It dawned on her then, right at that moment ── whatever it was that Brandon wasn't privy to.

"Huh. You really don't know," was all Mitzi said before she chewed on her bottom lip, expression pinched, as though she was carefully weighing over her next words. After a long, deliberative pause, she declared, "Rumour has it you two are engaged, but clearly──I mean, _obviously_ , it's all fake news if you don't even know about it." And then, with a toss of her hair and a click of her tongue, "How pathetic. It's simply saddening to see some people stooping to such low levels nowadays. All this goes to prove that she's a controlling, lying, manipulative──"

"Stop." His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade, and she stopped at once, her jaw snapping close. "You don't get to talk about Stella like that."

Her eyes widened into something like shock, or even disbelief. "But," she sputtered, lips parted, voice high and squeaky. "It's the _truth_. Don't you see it? Don't you see what she's doing? She is feeding everyone lies. She's trying to manipulate people into thinking she owns you. Who does that? It's not like you're her property. She's nothing but a liar──"

"That's enough," Brandon clipped her off, annoyed now. People typically tended to view Brandon as a calm and collected kind of a guy. For most people, he was exactly like that: relaxed, easy-going and carefree; unperturbed to the point nothing would faze him, but only a handful of people knew that Brandon could lose his cool and fly into a temper that could even give Riven a run for his money. It was unusual for Brandon to lose his patience, but he'd be lying if he said Mitzi wasn't testing his resolve right then and there. Even if he might not have been on the best terms with Stella, he'd be damned if he let anyone talk about his girlfriend like that. "I don't want to hear it. If I hear you say one more word about her, I'm going to leave right now."

Something flashed in her expression ── bitterness? Irritation? Rage? Maybe a combination of the three, even. Be that as it may, Brandon had a feeling he had hit a nerve when he watched her hands curl into tiny fists at her waist, her eyes hardened into cold chips behind her triangular glasses.

"Did you know she slapped me?" Mitzi demanded, eyes flashing, punctuating each word with a bone-chilling ice pick. "Do you have any idea how long I had that hideous red mark imprinted on my face? How's that for little miss perfect, huh?"

Shoulders pushed back, she levelled him with a defiant look, waiting for his reaction, but Brandon didn't respond, not immediately, and the looming silence began to chip away at his anger, bit by bit, replaced by guilt that began to slowly seep in his chest. Because ── yes, Brandon had heard about the incident. He might not have known the full story, but he'd gotten the gist of it. While he knew Mitzi must have said something to taunt Stella, he also knew Stella had a knack for lashing out when provoked, and the aftermath of that was rarely pretty.

Brandon finally forced out an exhale. "I'm sorry 'bout that."

At that, her features softened and morphed into something conspiratorial, something deceptively devious, causing Brandon to immediately regret his words. Taking a step toward him, she wrapped her manicured fingers around his forearm, leaning closer to him in a calculated manner. "You don't have to apologize for her, Brandon," her voice took on a syrupy tone, dripping with achingly sweet poison; a stark contrast to the voice she had earlier adopted. Taken aback by the sudden shift in her temperament, Brandon felt an almost tangible sense of discomfort enter in the air. "Forget about her. You don't have to be with someone like her." Her grip tightened on his arm, tone transformed. "Give it a little thought and you'll see she's not the right girl for you. I promise you I can treat you better than that blonde──"

"──stop. Just _stop_ , okay?" Brandon interjected harshly, jerking his arm free from her grasp and causing the girl to recoil away from him and gasp. Heat climbed its way through his body, scratching at his throat, sizzling on his tongue ── begging to be released, begging to burst out, but Brandon held his tongue for as long as his patience permitted in the moment. His jaw clenched, his voice cold. "Don't think for a second that I'm taking your side. I know you're not innocent. I know what you said to Stella. I know about every lie you told her."

Her eyes rounded wide, blinking innocuously. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cut the theatrics." Brandon retorted, not missing a beat. "You know I've never returned any of your phone calls or text messages. But that's not what you told Stella, is it?"

Her cheeks flushed pink. Panicked, she fumbled, "I was only trying to do you a favor!"

Brandon scoffed around a sarcastic puff of air, thoroughly unconvinced. "How?"

"Well──I mean, can I be real? You could do so much better than her. Why don't you realize that? Why don't you──"

"Why don't _you_ realize that I love her?"

Words tumbled out of his mouth all at once, heated and frustrated. Mitzi gave a start, swallowing a shaky gasp, but Brandon stood his ground, shoulders squared, barrelling on, "Alright? Just ── try to understand that, will you? I'm sorry if you ever thought there could be something between us, but I've already tried to tell you several times that I'm not interested in you. For whatever reason, I tried to be nice about it, but enough is enough. Let go of it ── _whatever_ this is ── for your own damn sake."

"But──"

"No." His tone was hard, final. "I'm over this. I'm over your games. Don't call or text me again. Just stay away from me. You got it?"

Tears clung to her bottom lids, balled hands quivering in silent fury. "I don't──I don't _understand_." Her voice trembled, refusal bleeding through every bone in her body. "This never happens to me. Everyone loves me. Everyone wants to be me. Everyone wants to be _with_ me," her voice cracked at the end, bordering on the hysterical. Taking a shuddering breath, she paused to collect herself, schooling her features despite her betraying body language. Her eyes were cold as the frostbite when she looked up at him again, her tone striking a watery, bitter note, when she croaked out, "What does she have that I don't?"

Brandon, thrown off by her emotional outburst, just stayed where he stood, staring at her in utter bewilderment. Her eyes were no longer shrouded with false pretences or traces of insincerity, but filled with raw emotion and wavering hurt behind a mask of misplaced resentment. For a brief moment, she looked fragile, impenetrable. It stunned Brandon into complete stillness and made him bite his tongue, causing something inside him grow. Something that felt a lot like pity.

Sniffling, she tore her gaze away, swiping furiously at her tears, lips pressed into a tight line. Then, shaking her head from one side to another, Mitzi let out a breathy laugh ── the mirthless and forced kind. "Don't answer that. I don't even know why I bothered to care about you in the first place. You want to stay with that blonde airhead? Go ahead. You never deserved the chance to be with someone like _me_ anyway."

With a stiff jut of her chin, Mitzi turned on her heel and started away. Befuddled, Brandon blinked in the wake of her departure, not exactly sure what to make out of the situation, but at the same time feeling oddly relieved at the turn of events.

* * *

Her forefinger slipped to a wrong string and a loud, distorted _twang_ reverberated through the air, followed by an exasperated huff.

"Oh, this is utterly hopeless," Stella grumbled, letting her grip loosen on the neck of the guitar.

"C'mon. You were doing great. Try again," Mark encouraged, nudging her from beside her on the floor.

Stella fought against the urge to groan out a protest, squeezing her eyes shut. How long they'd been rehearsing for the guitar solo in the basement of the music bar, Stella had no idea. What she knew, however, was that she was exhausted and tired of playing the instrument, that her fingers were sore and calloused from plucking at the strings, and that she couldn't _wait_ to soak her fingers in rose water. Well, she couldn't wait to leave the tiny, cramped rehearsal room altogether. Somehow, someway, it still reeked with a foul combination of stale musk, old socks and pizza grease even after Stella had generously spritzed the place with her fragrance mist and demanded Mark to get rid of all the empty bottles of cheap liquor and the towering stacks of takeout food.

As far as Stella could see, interior design wasn't in any better condition. At the far corner stood a massive drum set, flanked by a haphazard assemble of amplifiers, speakers, mixers and various sets of unplugged cords. Electric guitars covered half of the bland walls, band posters and peeling stickers taking up the rest of the grey space. Apart from the tacky, neon-coloured sticky-notes that littered every other available surface, filled with quotes and pick-up lines ── one which featured a hand-drawn sketch of a coffee cup and a cheesy tagline in scrawny handwriting, persuading its reader to have a drink with them because they liked them a _latte_ ; Stella inwardly cringed at the pun ── the drab and dreary room desperately needed a splash of colour.

Stella made a mental note to talk to Klaus about refurbishing the place as soon as she got the chance.

"──Stella?"

Stella blinked, lightheaded, shifting her gaze to the voice, eyes slowly clearing.

"You wanna give it another try?" Mark asked, his gaze expectant.

Stella pretended to consider, pausing just long enough to demonstrate indecision before she heaved a melodramatic sigh, stretching out her limbs for extra effect. "Can we take a break?" Stella pouted, sweetening her tone in an act of persuasion. "Please? I'll buy you a dozen guitar picks, if you say yes."

Mark chuckled, reaching out to slide the guitar strap from her shoulder. "Fine," he conceded, setting the guitar in his lap. His fingers instinctively curled around the neck of the guitar, while the other hand rested on the opposite end of the instrument. "Ten minutes. That's it."

Stella simply shrugged, accepting the deal. Sitting cross-legged, she watched him play the guitar, his long, nimble fingers gliding across the fretboard, strumming out a few notes, plucking at the nylon strings with ease. His shoulders were hunched down, his strokes light and purposeful, but it was the twinkle in his blue eyes, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that Stella found to be the most endearing quality about his demeanour. There was just something light and carefree about Mark whenever he got around to play his beloved guitar. Stella kind of envied that, but she couldn't help the smile that spread over her features when she listened to the calming tune, allowing herself a moment to forget about everything else.

Then, suddenly, he stopped strumming, the faint hum of a melody coming to an abrupt halt, lingering in the air, until it faded away into the stillness. When his gaze found hers, he was grinning ── gentle, welcoming, soft.

"So, she smiles."

There was a hint of bewilderment in her smile this time. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mark shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck, his frizzy violet curls flopping listlessly around his face. He looked momentarily stumped. "Uh, well──I don't know. You seemed a little off earlier. I thought you could use a bit of cheering up."

Stella was taken aback by the comment, having expected to receive a corny quip in return, or a wry retort, or even a lame joke, but instead she found Mark looking at her with sympathetic concern shining in his eyes, his head slightly tilted to the side, as though she was just that easy to read. That unsettled her more than the pitiful look he sent in her way, the kind people offered when they felt sorry for someone──which Stella absolutely abhorred, mind you──but, most of all, she loathed it when people looked at her like they had her all figured out, ready to jump on the chance to offer empty platitudes in vain. Tucking a long blonde lock behind her ear, Stella glanced away and stared at the polished hardwood ahead her, refusing to participate in yet another upcoming pity party.

Mark cleared his throat, as though realizing his unintentional blunder, and carefully set his guitar aside. "What I meant to say is," he rectified, scooting closer to her, "that I think you should smile more. It──uh, it suits you better," he added in awkward reassurance, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I mean it."

Lifting her gaze from the floor, Stella glanced up at him again. His face had melted into one of warm compassion, his eyes more tender than pitiful, more kind than ignorant, and Stella suddenly felt bad for judging him too harshly. In a sort of an apology, her mouth curved up into a small smile. "Thanks, Mark."

Mark returned her smile. For a brief flickering moment, Stella thought she saw something pass in his gaze, like a fleeting glint of sunlight. His hand then moved up from her shoulder, travelling across her skin, distracting her attention, settling on the side of her face. Slowly, steadily, he began to lean forward. Long lashes blinked at him, puzzled, but then realization dawned on her all at once, and her eyes widened in alarm.

"Mark, what are you──" Stella began to say, while cautiously pulling away from him. "You shouldn't."

Mark abruptly stopped short, his eyes flying open. His face immediately took on a whiter shade of pale. "Shit, sorry──I didn't──I don't know what got into me. I'm so sorry," he stammered out a frenzied apology, head bowed down, looking absolutely mortified.

Sympathy tugged at her heartstrings. Stella opened her mouth to say it was fine; to say whatever had happened did not matter; to say they could even pretend nothing had happened at all ── because, _technically_ , nothing did happen ── but the blonde was rudely deprived of the opportunity to offer any kind of response when a distinct screech of a door sounded in the air, startling them both, freezing them in their tracks.

"Stella──?"

Golden eyes flickered over to the source of the voice, and then widened when they landed on a pair of familiar brown eyes. Blood ran cold in her veins. Her senses slowly caught up to her, and Stella suddenly became acutely aware of the hand that still cradled the side of her face, lingering on her cheek. And then, hastily, the hand jerked away from her face like it had been burned. _Oh, no_. Stella quickly scrambled to her feet, dusting off the bottom of her dress, and felt the boy beside her mimic her motions as he, too, leapt to his feet and straightened. Before any of them could get a word in, Brandon was already fast approaching the two, blazing eyes zeroed in on the pair with a ferocity Stella had never seen on him before.

Panic gripped her mind.

"Brandon──" Stella started to say, heart in her throat, when she noticed the way his jaw tightened and his hand clenched at his side, darkening the browns of his eyes, but he wasn't listening to her. He wasn't even looking at her. Stella stepped forward and tried again with a pleading undertone in her voice, "Wait──no, it's not what it looks like. It's not what you think," and then, in a flurry of frantic panic, Stella reached out to get a hold of his arm, realizing too late how cliché it all sounded, but Brandon swerved and pushed his way past her, making his way to the other male until he stood right in front of him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, his eyes narrowed, "Brandon, please, don't──"

But it was too late.

"You son of a bitch," Brandon growled ominously, slamming Mark into the wall behind them with a bone-rattling thud. Posters went flying in the air, dropping unceremoniously to the floor.

Breath catching in her chest, Stella watched in horror as Brandon threw the first punch.

* * *

▬▬ **Notes:** Uh-oh. Did anyone see that coming? I hadn't initially planned to include Mark at all after the first chapter, but then I was re-watching some clips from season four, and I noticed there were quite a few moments where Brandon expressed his dislike toward Mark, and that kind of spurred me into writing the last scene. I know Brandon wasn't as vocal about his jealousy as Stella, but it was obvious from those clips that he felt some type of way about Mark every time he was around Stella.

I know there hasn't been a lot of interaction going on between Brandon and Stella so far, but I can assure you all that we'll see a _lot_ more of them from now on. And lots of fluff when the time comes.

P.S. If you've noticed, I've finally dropped the engagement bomb! I'm definitely going to address it again later, and try to make some sense of it because the show (clearly) never did. So, I've kept it a bit vague and brief, on purpose, in this chapter.

xoxo,

Liv


	5. Five

▬▬ **Songs:** _Ships in the Night_ by Mat Kearney | _Pretending_ by Alec Benjamin | _Ocean_ by Martin Garrix ft. Khalid

▬▬ **Rating:** PG-13

* * *

 **Only You**

───────── ·⅋· ─────────

 _Chapter V_

* * *

"What were you thinking?"

"What was I thinking?" Brandon asked, incredulous. "What were _you_ thinking?"

Brandon wasn't the type to get angry. Annoyed, sometimes, without a doubt, and exasperated more often than not, but rarely angered. He hated letting his temper get the best of him because nothing good ever came out of it. But he'd not been able to hold himself back when he'd seen the idiot lean in to kiss _his_ girlfriend. Brandon had remembered, in that very moment, their band rehearsals, the late night drinks, and the smoothies he'd bring her after a long day. How he'd looked at her in the attached photo Brandon had received from an anonymous number, innocently holding a bucket of paint, as though he'd only come to help the girls paint their apartment. Brandon had never really reacted to any of that before, but then all those fragments of recollection flashed across his mind with triggering clarity, spiralling him into a blinding rage.

Although it had all happened in a blur, Brandon still vividly remembered hearing a satisfying crunch before he'd been forcibly held back by both Riven and Sky who had somehow heard the commotion. Mark had seized the opportunity to hit Brandon back, right at that moment, landing a swift punch to his jaw, and before Brandon could have raised his hand to retaliate, Stella had roughly pulled him by the arm, dragging him out of the scene and towing him up the stairs and into the nearby kitchenette.

Forcing himself out of his thoughts, Brandon shook his head and tried to focus his mind. "Scratch that. What did you think you were doing?"

Huffing, Stella pressed the half-pint tub of pistachio ice cream she'd retrieved from the freezer against the side of his jaw. Brandon had insisted he didn't need it, but Stella had ignored him as usual, shoving him onto one of the kitchen stools, grabbing his face with both her hands and tilting it sideways and upside down as she examined him with attentive scrutiny, rummaging through the freezer before he even had a chance to utter another objection. (I can't believe they have no real ice here. I can't even yell at you right now. Why did you have to get yourself into a fight? This will have to do.") Her hand now tightened around the curved edge of the tin, her expression hard.

"I told you, I didn't do anything," Stella said indignantly, her gaze intently fixed on the tub of ice cream she was holding in her hand, and Brandon had the distinct feeling she was deliberatively avoiding looking at him. "There was no need for you to go all ballistic on Mark. That's all I'm saying."

"Served that idiot right," he scoffed.

Brandon expected Stella to say something, waiting for her to drop off a comment, weigh in with an opinion, like she always did with every single conversation, no matter the subject. But she didn't answer, didn't even lift her eyes, so he reached for her hand, to make her.

"Tell me," he began, fastening a hand around her wrist, "would something have happened if I hadn't come?"

Stella gasped, utterly insulted, hand flying to her chest _._ The ice cream carton dropped from her hand to the floor with a thud, but neither of them paid it any mind. Her mouth opened and closed several times in disbelief until she sputtered out, "How can you think that─I mean, I already told you─ _no_."

"Are you sure?"

Her golden eyes narrowed, knuckles white.

Brandon had not meant to prod her further, but he couldn't stop himself now that he had let his emotions run wild. Truth be told, he had believed her the first time she had explained everything to him, but the thought of another guy, whom he had never even liked in the first place, trying to make a move on his girlfriend still lingered in his mind and coursed through his veins, hot and sizzling.

"Why," her voice took on a dangerous edge, eyes breathing fire, lips pulled into a tight, pretty scowl, "are you insinuating that something would've happened?"

"You tell me."

"Good grief," she muttered loudly, rolling her eyes, arms thrown in the air. "Nothing happened; I've told you that a thousand times already. We were rehearsing for the song and talking for a bit, and─and─" she cut herself off, holding her breath, suddenly riled up with the way he was interrogating her, and her spitfire honey-gold eyes pinned on him with a ferocity that made him tense. " _You're_ one to talk. I can't believe I'm getting questioned by you of all people. Don't even get me started on you and that viper."

"Look─"

"I mean, it's like─"

"If you'd just hear me out─"

" ─you don't even _care_. You're just letting it happen."

"No, I'm not─"

"Yes, you are."

Brandon squeezed his eyes shut, running a frustrated hand through his brown locks. He waited a moment to cool himself off, attempting calm. "I don't—I mean, goddammit, Stella—how is this any different from what you're doing?"

Stella appeared taken aback, lips parted. "What have I done?"

"I'm not an idiot." His hands formed into fists at his sides. "I've seen the way he looks at you, how close he gets to you─"

"It's not the same," she denied instantly, irritated.

Brandon did not even bother to hide his vexation this time. "Why?"

"Because."

"Because, what?"

Stella pursed her lips into a thin line. "Because it's not like that."

"See, this─ _this_ is your problem," Brandon exclaimed as he got out of his seat, voice climbing higher in spite of himself, and she took a small step back. "You think you can see through everyone. You think you know everything. You think you're always right because you think you know better than everyone else what they should be doing, or thinking, or feeling, or just frickin' wearing. It has always been the way _you_ think and the way _you_ believe, and so it always must go _your_ way," Brandon paused, muscles tense. "That's not how it works."

Stella was shaking, outraged. "Don't you dare try and tell me this is all my fault─"

"I'm not," Brandon interjected at once, cutting her off. "I'm not blaming you," and the firmness of his words caused her to rein in her temper, stilling her anger. Letting his own anger fade, he softened a little. "I just want you to hear me out for once, to see the bigger picture here."

But she refused to hear it, refused to see it. "He's not like her," she insisted instead, ever stubborn, "It's not the same."

Brandon studied her closely, searching her face in a way he'd always do when he suspected she was withholding something from him, and if he'd noticed something, he didn't call her on it. Brandon could be incredibly clueless at times, but Stella knew he was more observant than most people gave him credit for, and she didn't want him to find out parts of herself she wasn't quite ready to admit to herself yet. So she tore her gaze away and wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself tightly, as she repeated with feverish conviction, "It's not the same."

Silence filled the room, heavy and harrowing, brimming with misunderstandings and miscommunication.

"You're right. It's not," Brandon conceded after a moment, rivalling her relentless persistence with cool casualness, which caught her off guard for a second. "'Cause I wasn't the one to jump to conclusions first."

Her hackles rose, gaze raised. "That's because I've never given you a reason to," she snapped back, not missing a beat.

His face hardened, jaw tight. Stella bit her tongue, but it was too late. Brandon closed the distance between them, grabbed her wrist and pulled her up against him─eye to eye, face to face, chest to chest─with nowhere to escape. Her heart skipped a beat, breath catching in her throat. "Is that what you think of me?" he asked, his words a harsh whisper. Stella stayed quiet, unable to move, unable to think, unable to _breathe_ , and Brandon pressed further, "I need to know, Stella."

Stella swallowed dry, hearing the rough undertone in his voice, and the jackhammer pounding of her heart transformed into a throbbing guilt. She knew she should've taken her words back, tell him she didn't really think of him as _that_ guy─a player; because the truth of the matter was that Brandon had never truly given her a reason to doubt him. But she knew her remark would sting given his track record of broken hearts he'd left behind him, and it had: she'd seen it flash across his brown eyes, like fire in the dark. In spite of this fact, or maybe because of it, Stella was reluctant to take it back because a part of her had wanted him to hurt the way he had hurt her, to make him feel the way she had felt all this time.

There was some shuffling of footsteps, and then they both heard a door creak open.

"Stel, are you still─ _oh_."

Brandon glanced over his shoulder to the now opened doorway, where a surprised Bloom hovered uncertainly, pale hand poised over her mouth. At that exact moment, Stella took advantage of his lapse in attention and ducked under his arm, promptly skipping over to her best friend, and Brandon sucked in a sharp breath, barely resisting the urge to curse out loud when he watched her flee away the scene once again.

* * *

They avoided each other for a whole week.

They carried on like nothing was wrong. They hardly acknowledged each other, barely looked at one another. They steered clear from the inconvenient conversations and imminent confrontations, happier to skate on thin ice than to face the cacophonous music. They pretended to ignore the sinking swoops in their stomachs, the tightening in their chests, the deafening sound of their hearts pounding in their ears when they'd accidentally, inadvertently, lock eyes across a crowded room, and then look away.

It wasn't like _them_ , admittedly, but it was what it was.

Stella sighed, swirling her straw around her strawberry and cream smoothie. Being reminded yet again of how long it had been since they'd had any kind of interaction only made her heart ache more. With another long, resigned sigh, she willed herself to push away the suffocating thoughts and looked down at her glass, only then noticing it was empty. Her brows furrowed. How'd it get empty that fast? Admittedly, Stella had already lost count of how many smoothies she'd had, but she doubted one more would hurt anyone. Besides, it did wonders for her hair. Standing up off the bar stool to get herself a refill, Stella weaved her way around the round tables and chairs, passing a group of animatedly talking patrons on her way to the separate kitchenette where she knew for a fact Klaus always stored drinks, and pushed through the double doors.

Stella immediately skidded to a halt at the sight before her. Brandon stood near the open rack pantry, his body angled to the side, stretched forward, as he pushed a large box of bottled juice beverages and fresh fruit smoothies toward the far end of the top shelf, unaware of her presence. Her gaze then settled onto the outline of his side profile, taking in his cotton blue shirt that was left unbuttoned at the first two buttons, one side of its hem nonchalantly tucked into the front of his cargo shorts, as per usual. Defined muscles rippled underneath his collared button-up with each sinewy movement, but it was the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs peeking out from his shorts that had her mouth go dry, and Stella momentarily forgot the real reason why she'd even come to the suddenly small, suddenly warm kitchenette.

Bottles clinked right then and there, jolting her out of her reverie and swaying her back to the present moment. Stella shook her head clear of any thoughts and figured she'd better leave before she got caught and tried to inconspicuously slink away, hands extended behind her as she blindly felt her way to the door. But then, as luck would have it ─ with a side helping of her poor coordination skills ─ her hand swiped across the countertop beside her, knocking over a three-tiered fruit stand and causing a variety of fruits to clatter all over the counter and tumble to the plainly tiled floor, accompanied by a series of menacing thuds. With a shocked little yelp, Stella froze on her feet.

Brandon turned toward her, lowering his hand from the stack of boxes on the metal pantry, meeting her stunned gaze.

They stayed rooted to the spot, eyes locked, neither one moving a single muscle. Time stood still. There was nothing but the hum of idle chatter wafting through the closed doors from the outside and their beating hearts fumbling through the dark, scrambling trying to get through one another. They waited for one of them to start breathing again, to crumble first, to cut through the tunnelling silence, to break the eye contact, but neither did anything of the sort. His dark brown eyes then fell on the empty tall glass in her hand, and his features smoothed into some kind of realization in the midst of the tense stillness the room had lapsed into.

Dusting off his hands, Brandon broke the silence at long last. "I was just leaving."

His voice was distant and hollow, and her heart gave a painful lurch at the sound. He grabbed his jacket from the counter and caught her eyes one last time before he walked right past her, his arm brushing against hers, ever so lightly, ever so gently, setting the ends of her nerves under her skin ablaze. Her hand reached out to him, instinctively, without a coherent thought, without her even meaning to.

But then she remembered herself, and she remembered him, and she remembered the thing─the goddamn _thing_ that hung between them, unspoken and unbridled, coming apart at the frayed seams, tearing them apart little by little, and her hand fell at her side, limp and lifeless.

* * *

"God, someone shoot me now."

Helia gave the grumbling boy a pointed look. "She's just having fun, Riven."

Rolled dishcloth pressed against his bloodied nose ─ which Riven had earned himself during a game of beer pong when he'd drunkenly stumbled forward and crashed into the edge of the tabletop ─ Riven winced in discomfort when the microphone screeched with feedback _again_. Stella had somehow managed to take over the karaoke box shortly after Layla had yanked Musa off the stage to the makeshift dance floor, singing along to a bubbly pop karaoke track with absolute gusto. Before long, the festivities had begun, fuelled by a steady flow of liquor, and the party was in full swing. Everyone ─ well, everyone drunk enough ─ descended into an uproar of excitement when Stella tipsily announced into the microphone that she'd be singing her latest rendition of yet another pop song.

"This is pure _torture_ ," Riven groaned, breathing thickly through his stuffed nose.

"That's not a very nice thing to say," Flora chided, taking a small sip of her pomegranate juice. Being the designated driver, she'd opted to stay sober throughout the night to keep an eye on her friends.

"I wasn't trying to be nice," Riven deadpanned dryly.

"I'm going," announced Brandon abruptly from his place beside Riven, finishing his drink with a single gulp. Brandon had decided he'd just about had enough when Stella had gotten her foot tangled up in the microphone cord, nearly falling over the edge of the stage, after which she had collapsed into a peal of drunken giggles, oblivious to the possibility of getting herself hurt. With a deep, steadying exhale, Brandon pushed himself off the bar counter he was leaning against and shook his head at what his night was turning into, but nevertheless started toward the stage, craning his neck back, "Call a cab, will you? I'll take her back to the apartment."

Flora gave a grateful nod in return, fumbling with her purse to search for her phone. Both boys had directed their attention to Brandon in the meantime, watching him walk over to the blonde, stopping in front of her, arms raised, coaxing her to get off the stage. Stella, however, seemed nowhere near ready to leave her limelight just yet and swatted his hands away, ignoring him with a defiant jut of her chin. Brandon did not stop there, however. Launching forward, he grabbed at her ankle, yanking her off the stage to a shriek, and she collapsed backward into his arms in bridal style.

And then they all heard a clatter.

"Oh, no," Flora commented under her breath, foreboding creeping into her voice.

A shrill, high-pitched wail pierced through the air, right on cue, and the trio winced in unison with varying degrees of sympathy─or pure, unadulterated pain, in Riven's case. "My _tiara_!"

"All right, all right," Brandon tried to placate the hysterical girl, hoisting her over his shoulder when she began trashing her hands and legs with all her might. "I've got it, I've got it, I'm picking it up."

By some stroke of a miracle, Stella went quiet and stopped flailing her limbs altogether while Brandon dropped down to a crouch with her still sprawled on his back, fetching her beloved tiara from the ground and handing it back to a sniffling Stella who seemed appeased for the time being.

Flora let out a relieved sigh, while Helia visibly relaxed beside her. Riven stood ramrod straight, watching the sparring couple in dizzying awe. "I don't know how he deals with her," Riven confessed. "Mad props."

* * *

Brandon grasped her hand, tugging on it. "You're not going back there."

"I don't need your approval to─"

"You're not in the right state of mind─"

"I can take care of myself. I am─"

"You're drunk, Stella."

Stella fell silent, stood outside on the sidewalk, expression frozen.

After a prolonged beat, Stella recovered with a huff and pulled herself up straighter. "I can still walk by myself, thank you very much." To prove her point, Stella wrenched herself away from his grip and attempted to take a step forward, only to wobble in her stance and have Brandon steady her by the arm, his hand seized on her forearm. "All right, I could walk if I wasn't wearing these heels. Let me just take them─"

Brandon interrupted her again, "I'm taking you back to the apartment."

Her mouth fell open, but then she closed it, teeth clamped together. Stella was never one to take kindly to being told what to do. Lips pressed tight, standing in the chilly night air, she jerked her arm back and drew herself up to her full height as she readied herself to fire back a spiteful retort, a snappy comeback, or just a snide remark, but not the faintest sound of a word crossed her lips. Bristling in muted annoyance, Stella took off her five-inch high heels and threw them at his feet, not caring if she nicked them, along with her purse, her tiara─every possible possession she held in her hands at that point, and somehow, someway, that made her feel better, made her feel lighter, loosened, liberated.

Brandon let her be, let her get it out of her system, brown eyes calmly trained on her. He watched as her gaze wandered around the perimeter of the area, twinkling city lights casting her in a soft golden glow against the inky midnight sky, catching the honey-brown highlights in her long blonde hair. Any other time, this would be the moment where he'd grab her by the waist, tell her she'd never looked prettier, and she'd soak up all his compliments, eyes shimmering with all shades of sunset. But lately they'd been so out of sync with each other that Brandon wasn't even sure how to act around her anymore.

So he just found himself asking, "What are you doing?"

"I'm searching."

He raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

She shrugged, noncommittal. "Stuff," and then she vaguely gestured around her, "to throw at you."

Brandon just stared. "You do realize you're being ridiculous right now, don't you?"

Stella swivelled around sharply, eyes thinned to a sliver of gold.

"I am, aren't I?" she goaded, cheeks pink, eyes glittering─and _fuck_ , if she didn't look beautiful angry. Tendrils of sunshine blonde hair fell around her face, swishing from one side to another as she strode forward with a steadfast defiance of a woman on a mission, and Brandon had to catch himself from impulsively reaching out his hand to tuck them away from her face, to run his fingers through her golden tresses, to just _touch_ her. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel, oh great saint of the people?"

But he didn't rise to the bait, nor did he say anything. Instead, he glanced behind Stella just in time to spot a bright yellow taxi that had pulled up to the curb, headlights still blinking, then grabbed her wrist and began to wheel her forward toward the direction of the vehicle.

Stella was about to protest, right then and there, tugging against his grip, but Brandon had already come to a stop by the time she had regained her balance, opening the rear passenger door of the taxi and leaning into the rolled-out window to instruct the driver where to go. Irritation crept in her veins because ─ _of course_ , Brandon would do something like this. Of course, he'd jump at the first chance to play the hero, always eager to save the day, even though no one ever asked him to do anything. Even now, even with the weight of the entire world hanging between them, he never hesitated to look after her, not even for a moment. It suddenly made perfect sense why all those unsuspecting girls fell for him and his stupid heroic, stupid ways.

And just ─ just, damn it, he could be infuriating.

Silent, she begrudgingly watched as he collected rest of her belongings from the pavement and carried them over, dropping everything onto the backseat of the cab. For a fleeting moment, Stella didn't know how to explain the sudden swell of affection that filled her chest at the sight. Biting her lip, she lifted her gaze up to his, honey-gold eyes sliding from the rear passenger seat to steal a glance at his face, and his brown eyes locked onto hers, expectant but patient, waiting for her to get in the cab. Brandon didn't say a word this time, and Stella couldn't think of any way to dispute him.

So she climbed into the taxi without a word, too.

The streets were quiet, landscape dipped in twilight, as they both sat in silence in the backseat of the cab. Stella gave a small shiver, but she wasn't able to tell if it was from the alcohol or the cold, and before she could have admonished herself for only wearing a tube dress─and then remind herself that fashion wasn't about being comfortable─she felt something warm and heavy fall around her shoulders. It was only then she caught a whiff of his cologne and realized he'd taken his jacket off, a chivalrous gesture she ought to have predicted from him. Still, that achingly familiar surge of affection welled up inside her again, easing her tension, warming her up in a way no jacket ever could.

Stella let her fingers absentmindedly trace over the edge of the collar, breathing deep, suddenly tired of the day. Her lashes began to drift down, brushing against the apples of her cheeks for longer periods of time, and she allowed her eyes to flutter close, sinking down to drop her head on his shoulder.

 _Thank you_ , she wanted to tell him.

 _I'm sorry_ , she thought she might have meant to say.

Stella intended to tell him just that, she'd always wanted to, but she couldn't, she _wouldn't_ , because she'd never been quite able to put her pride on the floor, and thus, instead, she found herself mumbling, "You're so annoying."

There was a shared silence between them, and it felt a lot like a stab wound to the heart. Stella didn't know why it hurt, but it did. She kept her eyes closed, pretending she'd said nothing at all, expecting him to remain quiet, expecting him to just dismiss her, except he didn't.

"Yeah," he responded at last, voice low and monotone, "I know."

But she suspected he simply said that for the sake of saying something, acquiescing to her, never one to counteract, not with her. Shaking her head, Stella drew a breath, light and deep. "No, you don't."

It wasn't a biting retort, nor did she sound like she was trying to pick a fight with him. There was, instead, a softness around her words that wasn't normally there.

Eyelids heavy, head clouded over in wisps of a drowsy daze, she continued, "You don't even realize how all of it makes me feel─when you're─and with─and you don't─" her breath hitched, words stuck in a parched throat, manicured nails carving deep crescents into her palms. "It's─it's annoying."

Her heart rose into her throat, her stomach tied in a knot. Stella swallowed in apprehension, holding her breath in anticipation─of what, exactly, she didn't know. She wasn't even aware her hands were trembling until Brandon covered her hands in his, gentle and tender, lacing his fingers through hers with a familiarity that tugged at her heartstrings, that felt like _them_. Her shoulders sagged, heart fluttering in her chest, as she felt herself relax into his touch for the first time in far too long. His fingers tightened around hers, pulling her close, like he'd waited all this time for her to reach out to him, to help him get a read on her.

"Stella," he said, her name falling from his lips like an apology.

There was a raw undercurrent to his voice that told her he wanted to say more, wanted her to know he understood _,_ she could just feel it in her bones, even in her frazzled state, because she'd learned to read him, too, even though they'd both been misreading each other lately.

But she could hear nothing else that followed after that, not the sound of her soft breaths, not the faint hum of the engine, not the low murmur of his voice; not the last words he'd spoken to her.

* * *

▬▬ **Notes:** This chapter turned out to be a bit more angst-filled than I had originally intended it to be. ;_; But I promise there's gonna be lots of fluff to make up for all the angst. There are only two or three chapters left, which means we're very, very close to getting off the angst train and arriving at the fluff station. ;)

Also, I know it might seem like I'm dragging out the story, but I can assure you I'm not tormenting you guys on purpose. There are a few reasons why I haven't made Brandon and Stella reconcile just yet, and I will address those reasons later in the next chapter.

Lots of virtual hugs to everyone who has been keeping up with the story and reviewing along the way. I adore you all. To all the lovely guest reviewers who I haven't been able to personally thank through PMs, just know that I read all of your comments, and I appreciate y'all very, very, _very_ much.

xoxo,

Liv


	6. Six

**Notes:** Sorry, this isn't a new update. I ended up deleting the beginning because I didn't like some parts of it. I might tweak it a bit and add it later, but for now it's deleted. If you happened to read the original sixth chapter, you don't have to read this again because it's still, more or less, the same. I'm currently working on the new update though. Feel free to comment if you'd like to see something specifically, and I'll try to see if I can fit it in. I'm also working on two other one-shots; one is angsty, the other is fluffy and family-related, featuring their kids, so if you're tired of reading this story, let me now, and I can update something else instead.

There are mentions of suggestive themes near the end of the chapter. If that's not your cup of tea, then, please, don't read it. It's nothing explicit, mostly just alluded to, but I thought I'd give you a heads up.

Lastly, but definitely not least, thank you for all your sweet reviews and messages! You are all lovely, and I don't deserve you.

* * *

 **Only You**

───────── ·⅋· ─────────

 _Chapter VI_

* * *

It had rattled her, the first time she'd ever seen her parents fight.

Her mother had become more and more distant, always away, for one reason or another—an unforeseen assembly meeting, a luncheon at a private yacht club, a trip to a resort village—it didn't matter what the occasion, she was always out of reach. Her father, however, had put more effort in spending time with her. Every weekend, when she was a little girl, he'd take her on long walks to the park, and they'd stroll hand in hand, get ice cream from the nearest ice cream truck, watch the sun set over the treetops, and stop at a bench before heading back home.

Stella could see one particular time, clear as the daylight inside her mind. That day she'd stared hard at her chocolate chip ice cream cone, perched atop the same wooden bench her father and her always had, and it had only been then that she'd found the courage to ask the question that had been sitting at the back of her mind for the longest time. "Mom is never going to come back, is she?"

Her father had gone rigid beside her, and she had almost regretted asking the question. They had lingered a moment in the thick, tense silence, neither one speaking. The silence had been long and wide, and when she hadn't been able to stand it any longer, she'd anxiously peered up at his face, noticing her father had taken to staring blankly ahead of him.

"Daddy?"

Her father had recoiled, eyes widening, as though remembering right then and there where he was and who he was. Straightening his posture, he had sighed, a sad, forlorn sound that had tugged at her heartstrings. He'd then turned to her and tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "Sometimes people have to go away for a little while. That way they can learn to love themselves first in order to love others."

Stella had frowned. "Mom doesn't know how to love?"

Her father had smiled, a small, wistful one, bringing out a handkerchief to wipe at the melted ice cream on her fingers. "It's not that simple, sweetheart. Love is not just a feeling. Love is a choice. Your mother—well, she is choosing to love you better by getting the kind of care she needs. It takes a lot of courage to do that," he explained. "You don't have to understand that now, but I can promise you there's not a single thing in the world your mother loves more than you. All we can do right now is be patient."

But she had never been a patient person. Stella hated waiting, hated staying put. Still, she had waited and waited and waited, but her mother had never come back to stay, to settle down.

Was she not even worth of an explanation, a reason, a chance?

Was she not good enough?

Standing in front of the apartment building the boys had rented, she couldn't help but feel the hypocrisy in criticizing how her mother had ducked out of a life that had become too much for her, when, in a way, she was doing the exact same thing.

It wasn't as though she wanted to avoid him, but she had to admit, if only to herself, that she was a runner: one for evading the tough conversations, happier to avoid than to confront—just like her mother, she thought to herself bitterly. It was cowardly, she knew, but she also knew she always made a big mess of things, always had her head up in the clouds, and she did not know how to trust herself, at least not where he was concerned.

Stella began to wonder if coming here at all had been the right move, the right _choice_. But then she clutched at the letterman jacket she was holding against her chest and reasoned that she had only come to return it. Or, at least, that was what she told herself. If the tightness around her throat, or the churning feeling in the pit of her stomach were anything to by, she suspected it was nothing more than a blanket excuse to come over, to talk things through.

And maybe it was.

Maybe she had always relied on smoke and mirrors, and maybe it was time she lifted the veil of fog.

Her fingers pressed against the column of her neck, like she was trying to catch her heartbeat, to seek a modicum of control over her emotions—another thing that reminded her too much of her mother, and she snatched her hand away, fingernails curling inside her palm.

Cool, cool, cool. She could be cool. She _was_ cool. She was her father's daughter.

Rolling her shoulders back, she took a low, long breath and stepped forward. Green pumps clicked on the tiled floor in the movement, carefully manicured hand raised to press the doorbell. With another steadying breath, she pressed the bell, stepped back and waited. Dread knotted her stomach. Her eyes drifted back to the spiral staircase in spite of herself, and suddenly she got a half a mind to run again.

But then the chain slid, the lock clicked, and her heart nearly stopped.

"Stella?"

Her heart fluttered in her chest, then caved in at the sight of him. He hadn't been expecting her, she could tell. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, his mouth slightly parted in a question. Her gaze swept down from his face to the rest of his body, taking in the way he stood before her, bare-chested, with a towel loosely draped around his neck. Water drops gleamed on his chest, wet curls falling across his forehead, indicative of the fact that he must have just come out of the shower. Her chest squeezed. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him like this—all defined lines and chiseled muscles and shirtless—and the realization weighed down her chest like a ton of bricks.

Brandon pulled the door open wider, but she stayed rooted in her spot.

"Your jacket," she blurted out, at last, in a sudden burst of recollection, thrusting the jacket into his chest.

She became anxious to leave, and she made to move, or attempted to, but his hand darted out, encircling around her wrist before she could take a step. He didn't pull yet. He just kept her there, and when she looked up, his brown eyes were full of some unnamed emotion, silently pleading with her. "Can we talk?"

She pressed her lips together. "I can't stay."

"Why not?"

Stella blinked, lightheaded, scrambling for an excuse. But no excuse would manifest itself in her mind in the face of reality, and instead she blurted out, "'Cause you're not wearing a shirt."

His expression morphed into one of confusion. He opened his mouth to respond, but she had already tuned him out, palms to his chest, lips set in a determined line, shoving him inside the apartment. "What are you doing—"

But she wasn't listening. "What, you think you're in some swimwear ad?"

"Huh?"

"Just go put on a shirt!"

"Why—"

"Don't question it, just do it!"

Once inside his room, she let go of him and strode toward his drawers, yanking each one open. She scoured through the contents until her eyes landed on something that could only be described as utterly horrendous.

"Why do you still have _this_?" Stella wrinkled her nose, holding up one of his shirts in the air. Without a second thought, she tossed it away and continued to rifle through his clothes. "Didn't I tell you muscle shirts are over? Do you listen to anything I tell you—oh, my God, when did you get this shirt? Why haven't I seen you wear this wear before? It's cute. I approve."

"Stella, what are you—"

"And look at this—" here she replaced a pinstriped button-down shirt with a green vest, examining the piece of clothing with unusual scrutiny, "—actually, no, let's not look at this one. This is a big no-no," she deflected, shaking her head as she threw the article of clothing over her shoulder. "Sweater vests are most definitely not in this season. They make everything look tacky. We seriously need to upgrade your wardrobe."

"Stella."

But she couldn't hear him, still blabbering on and on, with her back to him. "Too many plaid shirts, too few dress shirts. Maybe throw in some vintage pieces and cashmere sweaters in the mix. Oh—and don't forget to include dark denim in your wardrobe; having plain denim just doesn't cut it anymore," she advised, absentminded, digging through another drawer now. "Neck scarves are making a comeback and you barely have any of them in—"

His hand clamped around her wrist, and she stopped in mid-rant, a black graphic T-shirt raised high in her poised hand.

Her face was confused. "What?"

Brandon sighed, plucking the shirt from her grasp. Stella watched as he crumbled it up and tossed it aside on the floor. "What's going on?" he asked, turning to look at her. "I doubt you came here with the intent to lecture me on my fashion choices."

Stella gave a nervous laugh, hearing how airy and false it sounded. "Why else would I be here?"

"I don't know," he said, his gaze trained on her, steady. She felt like he was quietly assessing her, like he saw past the façade she put on. "I was kind of hoping you'd tell me."

When she couldn't handle him looking at her like that anymore, she lowered her gaze to the floor. She had braced herself for this moment, this talk, but it still put her on edge, and she did not like it. Fiddling with the hem of her sundress, she picked at the end of her strapless dress. "Fine. I came to see you," she said, too tired to pretend anymore. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

He didn't say a word, didn't move, didn't reach out. Waiting for him to speak made her uneasy, and so she dropped her gaze, anxiety sweeping through every inch of her skin, eyes following the intricate lace detail her fingers were grasping at. When she finally chanced a glance at him, he was still looking at her.

Then faintly, almost imperceptibly, the left side of his cheek lifted, and something inside her fluttered.

"C'mere."

With that, Brandon dragged her toward his chest and gathered her into his arms. Her heart leapt into her chest, breath catching in her throat. His forearms crossed over one another, bringing her tightly to him, and she closed her eyes as she slipped her arms around him, tucking her face into his neck. He felt so warm, so safe, so familiar—like a security blanket one would hold onto as a child in times of troubles. All heat and weight and comfort. Knots loosened in her stomach, and she allowed herself to relish in the way his body fit against hers, so right, so perfect, for the first time in far too long.

"I was just getting ready to drop by your place," he murmured, his voice muffled by her hair. "I wanted to see you, too."

Face pressed to the crook of his neck, she clutched at him and burrowed herself into his warmth. There was something about the peace of being held in his arms that took the edge off the last of her nerves. They stayed like that for a while, not saying a word, not making a move, as time stood still. He did not try to force anything out of her. He just let her be, let her take her time.

"I don't want to fight anymore," she whispered. There was a tremor to her voice, and she hated it. She bit her lip against the oncoming onslaught of emotions, breath rattling in her chest, as she continued, "Make it stop, please. Just do something, Brandon. It's been weeks, and I—I don't know how to make it stop."

"Hey, now." His arms tightened around her. "Shh. It's all right."

She sank further into his chest, swallowing a shaky breath. "I just want it all to stop."

"All right," he said, pushing her back gently. His hands stretched toward her parted bangs over her forehead, tracing the frame of her face, and he looked at her with an intensity that dissipated all thought. "Tell me what to do, and I will, I will do it—tell me, and I swear, I'll do it."

Her throat tightened, the corners of her eyes stinging at the intimacy of his words.

He softened. "Baby, don't cry. God, I'm so sorry."

"I'm not crying." She immediately fixed her features into a stubborn pout, blinking back tears, as she pressed the heels of her palms over her eyes. "It's just the dust in here," she offered lamely.

There was a twitch to his lips; faint, but still enough to humor her. "Good," he said, "because I don't particularly like the idea of seeing you cry." His expression sobered then, and she thought she saw something flash in his brown eyes before he looked away, removing his hands from her face and running a hand through his hair. "I also don't want you to think that you can't trust me."

Stella immediately picked up on the hurt in his voice, and her heart squeezed with guilt. "I trust you," she insisted, catching his hand in hers. "I trust you more than anyone else."

He turned his head to look at her. "Do you?"

"Of course, I do."

Stella could see in his eyes that he still did not completely believe her. So she said after another pause, "I trust you," and cleared her throat before recovering to add, "I mean, I know I might have said some things that I didn't mean, but that was only because I was mad at you—or, you know, whatever. It doesn't matter. I don't want to talk about—" and she pressed her lips tightly, nose scrunched up in a grimace, before she forced herself to finish her sentence, "— _her_."

"She isn't bothering you anymore, is she?" he asked, and she heard the concern in his voice.

She shook her head. "No," she admitted, squeezing her arms over her chest. Her sigh was strained, exhausted. "I just—I didn't like how you acted around her. You made it seem like she had a chance with you. And I thought—well, I don't know. I didn't like it." She bit down on her tongue at the last comment, not intending to confess such a thing aloud, however true.

But he didn't tease her, nor did he judge her.

Instead, he stepped closer and hooked a finger under her chin, lifting her face up until her eyes met his, and she faltered a little under his gaze. "It was never like that, all right? And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I let you leave that day the way I did. I'm sorry I didn't realize what was going on sooner. I thought I was doing the right thing—the noble thing. It was dumb, I know, and I should've known better, but I'd hoped," he paused between each word carefully, looking at her with the kind of honesty that made her heart stutter inside her chest, "I'd hoped you had talked to me, told me it bothered you. 'Cause the thing is, Stella, you know you can always come to me, whatever the matter. I would never think anything less of you, and it would never change the way I feel about you."

Tongue-tied, she could only nod, uncertain of how to move forward now. All her life she had witnessed people crash and burn, struggling to make things right, failing to meet in the middle, and she had never quite known anything more suffocating. It was like watching a star collapse in on itself until it ran out of its fumes and threw everything out of kilter, with nothing to salvage.

But this was different. This felt a lot like coming up for air.

His voice was gentle. "Stel, hey. Look at me."

Then, without hesitating, he reached out to take her face between his hands. His hands were warm and welcoming against her skin, but she couldn't bring herself face him, and it confused her. Maybe it was her inability to rise above emotional situations, or maybe her tendency to avoid difficult conversations, or maybe her stubbornness and his naivety, all the things that had kept them apart, so much so that she'd almost forgotten about the familiarity of the rose-tinted times where they had never been at odds with one another.

Very gently, she felt him tilt her face up, and in the next moment her eyes found his.

He smiled, good-natured. "Guess what?"

She blinked, brows furrowed. "What?"

His thumb stroked the curve of her cheekbone, just above the rise of her cheek, and she looked at him with clear eyes, hazel eyes flicking back and forth between his brown ones, searching his gaze. He rested his forehead against hers, his hands moving down to trail the slope of her shoulders. "I have always loved you. Since we were sixteen. I still do. I _always_ will. You're the only one for me, Stella. I don't want you to ever doubt that. I don't want you to ever worry about any other girl because this—" and he lowered one of his hands on top of hers, placed it right in the center of his chest, right where she could feel his heart thumping underneath her flattened palm, "—is all yours. Only yours."

It was the sincerity in his voice, or the look in his eyes, that did it, that emptied everything from her, that made every last vestige of her guard melt away.

And then suddenly her arms were around his neck, dragging him down to her level, and in the next instant he was stumbling backward across the floor, colliding into her in a crushing embrace, and in the next moment she was home, her lips crashing against his.

They knocked into the corner of the armchair and almost tripped and collapsed over the chair until he caught himself and steadied them both, hands dipped into the bend of her waist, tugging her up to him, kissing her tight. Her hands dove behind the back of his head, pulling him in closer, harder, because she needed this to be something solid, because she had always craved that sense of grounded stability in her life. He pressed back and secured her in place, one hand catching the ends of her long, silken tresses, the other grasping at her waist.

It was all touch and taste and crashing heartbeats thereafter. He freed his hand from her waist and lifted it to cup the side of her jaw, tilting her head for a better angle, and she complied with his unspoken request and parted her lips. She barely managed to suppress a moan when his tongue brushed past her bottom lip, entering her mouth, and he groaned as he tasted her, his grip tightening on her.

Her fingertips skimmed along the contours of his chest, grazing over his abs, savoring each and every sinewy line, and she was kissing him so hard, so deep, she was certain she was bruising them both. But he didn't seem to care because his lips were just as hard and unyielding against hers, his hands just as eager, working at the zipper of her dress.

On the edge of her awareness, she felt him whirl them around, walking her backward, and she was too distracted to do anything other than let him. Her mind was stilled a fraction of a second later, her back pressed against the wall. His hands were everywhere, his body lined up against hers, his mouth tracing its way down her neck, and she grabbed, she pulled, she reciprocated, but this wasn't just about lust. This wasn't about a loss of control. It was him and her, their hearts and their feelings, out in the open, leaving behind hurt and pain, making up for the lost time. She never wanted to let go of this moment, never wanted it to end. So she clung onto him, like this was forever.

One of his hands glided over the expanse of her thigh, running along the length of her leg with practiced ease, and her breath hitched in her throat. Stella felt his lips curl into that knowing smile against the base of her neck, and he brought his hand back to her leg, his fingers leaving a trail of hot frissons in their wake as he nipped at the side of her jaw. She was breathing low now, and he was trailing kisses back to her mouth, and there was a breathless sort of yearning in the way he spoke her name against her lips, and she felt her heart soar.

"Brandon," she responded in kind, voice all breath. Burying her fingers through his locks, she gripped at his hair in a way that she knew made him feel intoxicated.

Brandon groaned, capturing her lips beneath his in a hard kiss. "God, I missed you."

His next words disappeared into her mouth as his hands closed around the crease above her hips, lifting her off the ground, and she clutched tightly onto the nape of his neck, legs anchored on his waist. Kisses like these deprived her from oxygen, made her hardly think straight. But she couldn't bring herself to care. Her fingernails on his skin and his mouth against hers, and his hands on her waist and her heart on her sleeve, she was doing nothing but feeling and touching—and, God, flying. She was flying.

Stella didn't realize it until the moment it happened, when his lips left hers, and her back landed on something soft and springy, and the next thing she knew she was pinned down to the bed with him half hovering over her, catching his breath. When she opened her eyes again, their eyes locked, and the universe came into existence again. His eyes were darker than before, gaze half-lidded, holding hers for several more seconds, looking at her with a fierceness that set her full heart on fire. But he didn't have to say anything; she felt it, too.

They grappled for another kiss, rushed and frantic, sinking further down onto the mattress and into one another.

* * *

 **Notes:** We're finally getting into the happy bits, guys. I hope this chapter wasn't too disappointing. There were some mixed reviews centered around who was to blame for the situation, and I had a long post prepared, explaining each decision I've made thus far, but I think I'll save it for the next chapter because there are still some plot holes to be filled, and I'd like to focus more on Brandon since this chapter was all about Stella. That said, if there's a line, a paragraph, a scene, that is confusing, do not hesitate to ask. And if you've got any other questions, I'll answer them, too, in the next chapter.

As for people asking for more fluff: I've got you. There'll be lots of fluff to come, and I hope you'll stay tuned. Until then, please stay happy and healthy.


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